


How to Find a Home

by Hazel_Athena



Series: Soulmate AU [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8947867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: “When you get your fool ass kidnapped, I’m supposed to be able to rain down all manner of violence upon those that did it. Otherwise, what even is the point?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, here it is - the promised sequel to You Push, I Push Back. I'm also working slowly but surely on a prequel focusing on Goodnight and Billy, since I've obviously lost control of my life.

If Faraday had ever sat down to think about how long it would take him to recover from the effects of being shot multiple times and then blowing himself up in a breathtaking act of self-sacrifice – which, why would he ever do that? Those were odds even beyond ones he was willing to contemplate – he’d have drastically underestimated the required time frame. It’s been almost eight weeks since the battle of Rose Creek, roughly six of which he’s been properly awake for, and he’s just now returning to proper form. On top of that, he’d been considerably helped along in his recovery through the use of a recently solidified soulbond.

“It’s a handy trick, isn’t it?” Goodnight had remarked one evening, back when they’d still been sharing a room in the infirmary during their long and often times arduous convalescence.

Faraday, half asleep at the time and not overly interested in maintaining a conversation, had merely grunted in response.

“The way that bonded pairs can take each other’s pain away, or at least block it, I suppose.” Goodnight had clarified. “It certainly makes the recovery process an awful lot less difficult, don’t you agree?”

Faraday had growled and given serious thought to flinging a pillow at the other man’s head. The only thing that had stopped him was that his spare pillow was the one that Vasquez kept commandeering whenever he inevitably reappeared from a long day spent helping put Rose Creek back together, and Faraday didn’t want him to have to do without.

“Robicheaux, I will pay you to shut up and let me get some sleep.”

For his part, Goodnight had just sighed and shaken his head sadly. “If this is what you’re like all the time, I pity poor Vasquez.”

Still, if he was being honest with himself, something that, contrary to popular belief, he, in fact, was from time to time, that particular trick _had_ done a lot to help him as he was weaned off the pain meds he’d spent much of those first few weeks doped up on.

“Does it hurt you?” He had asked blearily one particularly bad night, maybe two weeks after he’d woken up for good.

“Hmm?” Vasquez, who up until that point had been carding his fingers gently through Faraday’s sweat-soaked hair, had stilled his hand and frowned down at Faraday in confusion. “Does what hurt me?”

Faraday had nudged him none too subtly in an indication that he should get back to what he was doing. “Makin’ me hurt less,” he’d said, once Vasquez had started back up again to his satisfaction.

“You’re not making any sense, Joshua.” Vasquez had murmured quietly. They’d been out of the infirmary at that point, thankfully granted their own room in the local boarding house, and Faraday suspected Vasquez had been keeping his voice low in the hope that he’d fall back to sleep.

Huffing, Faraday had done his best to rephrase his question. “When I’m in pain, and you make it better,” he’d said slowly, “does that hurt you?”

“It wouldn’t stop me if it did, but, no, it does not hurt me.”

“What’s it feel like then?”

“It doesn’t feel like anything,” Vasquez had told him. “I just know I want you to feel better, and the bond helps me do that.”

“Alright, but how? I mean,” Faraday had added pointedly, “I ain’t arguin’ with the result, that’s for sure, but I don’t get how it works.”

“I’m not sure if anyone does,” Vasquez had mused thoughtfully, his fingers still keeping up their slow sweeps through Faraday’s hair. “I think there is still plenty we don’t know about soulbonds, and I’m certainly no expert either.”

Faraday had grumbled at that, not satisfied with the answer. “What if I gotta do it for you some day?” He’d asked, the mere thought of having to do so causing his stomach to twist unpleasantly. “I don’t imagine I’d have the first clue of how to go about it.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out.” Vasquez had said, sounding unconcerned. “Plus, you don’t _have_ to do anything for me. That’s not how this works.”

“Fine,” Faraday had huffed, “what if, in the hopefully entirely hypothetical scenario that sees you get hurt, I _want_ to try and help you, but I can’t because I can’t figure out how to do it?”

Vasquez had shrugged, still obviously not nearly as worked up about the whole thing as Faraday had felt he should be. “Then I will have a more painful time healing than you are now, but,” he added before Faraday could start growling again, “I will still heal. So it’s fine.”

“Doesn’t sound fine to me.”

“Joshua, stop.” Vasquez had sighed and dug his fingers a little harder than necessary into Faraday’s scalp. “You’re getting yourself worked up over nothing, when you should be resting. Let it go, guerito.”

Unsurprisingly, Faraday did not let it go, and when he reflects back on it later, he suspects this is where the trouble starts.

*****

“Damnit all to hell!” Faraday swears late one evening when Vasquez storms into their room with a worried frown on his face.

“I’m fine,” he barks, throwing his hands up in the air as if doing so will help him ward off the feeling of palpable concern that’s washing over him from Vasquez’s side of the soulbond. “I swear, I’m fine. I just can’t find those cleanin’ rags anywhere, and it’s pissin’ me the hell off.” All he’d wanted to do was give Ethel and Maria a little attention since they hadn’t been getting as much as they should throughout the course of his recovery, and instead he’s managed to cause yet another incident.

Vasquez, still looking worried, closes the door behind him and crosses the short distance from there to the table where Faraday has half their belongings strewn about in a haphazard pile. “They’re in the same pouch that you keep your flask in. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Faraday, who’s already moved to start digging in the pouch in question, nods stiffly. “I’m sure. I promise. It was just the same as before.”

When he finally dares to look at Vasquez, he doesn’t need a soulbond to tell him the man isn’t convinced. The way he’s holding himself – all tense and coiled up like he’s waiting to spring – is enough to make that much obvious. Sighing, Faraday gives up on his intended search and leans back in his chair, motioning with one hand for Vasquez to move forward.

“Oh, come on then,” he mutters, feeling his face flush as he does so. “We both know you want too.”

He gets a brief flash of relief through the bond, and then Vasquez’s hands are landing on his shoulders, pushing him back just far enough that the man can frown down at him with his look of concern still firmly in place. Faraday feels it as Vasquez prods at him through the bond, and can’t help but feel a little smug when the frown smooths out as he realizes nothing is wrong.

“See?” He says lightly, voice pitched deliberately to be soothing. “No pain to be found, am I right?”

“Yes, you’re right.” Vasquez agrees. He pulls his hands away and shuffles back a few steps, looking awkward. “Sorry.”

Faraday huffs out something that might, possibly be mistaken for a laugh even though they both know it isn’t. There’s nothing funny about the situation, not when it’s upsetting them both the way it is.

“It’s alright,” he says, doing what he can to project only feelings of calm and serenity – neither of which are really his best attributes. “We both know it was my fault.”

“No,” Vasquez disagrees, like he always does.

“Yes.” Faraday says firmly. “I might not know what’s goin’ on or why it’s happenin’, but I think we can both fairly say it’s on my end.”

Just what, exactly, _it_ was, neither of them can really put a finger on. When Faraday had first woken up in the infirmary, no one had noticed anything amiss beyond the typical aches and pains that one might expect for a man who’d been shot several times and then gone a round with a stick of dynamite. Now, however, Faraday’s starting to wonder if he might have walked away with more lasting repercussions than he’d first realized given that something appears to have gone off with the soulbond.

As Vasquez starts to frown again, Faraday shakes his head to forcibly separate himself from those thoughts.

"It's fine, Vas," he says with a sigh. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it just needs time."

*****

Faraday feels a spark of impish delight go coursing along the bond mere seconds before Vasquez throws his head back and moans his enjoyment extremely vocally into the night. “Goddamnit, Vas!” He swears, belatedly clamping a firm hand over the other man’s mouth, not missing the way Vasquez’s eyes are dancing with laughter, and praying to a god he only sort of believes in that he’ll have cut the noise off in time.

The sound of heavy fist pounding on the wall of the room next to him tells him he’s failed. “Goddamnit, Faraday!” Goodnight barks from the other side of the wall. “This is the third time in as many nights! As pleased as I am that you’re recovered enough to get it up this often, shut him the hell up, would you?”

Faraday doesn’t answer him, choosing instead to glare down at Vasquez, who’s shaking with mirth beneath him. “I hate you,” Faraday snarls without any real heat. “I hate you _so fuckin’ much_.”

Vasquez shakes his head in denial, managing to squirm free of Faraday’s grip in the process and nipping playfully at Faraday’s fingers. “You don’t,” he croons, voice a low rumble as he rocks his hips, making them both groan. “You don’t _at all_.”

“You wanna put money on that?” Faraday asks, thrusting forward and making Vasquez keen in pleasure. “Would you _stop_ that? You’re gonna wake up the whole damn boarding house at this rate.”

“Ay, madre de Dios, _Joshua_ , you are the only man alive who would complain about - ah  maldición – about … about …ah!”

Surging forward, Faraday catches his mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing down whatever cries he was about to let out before he can have their neighbours voicing their displeasure again. “Just once,” he hisses, biting viciously at Vasquez’s lip as Vasquez locks his legs around Faraday’s back, urging him on with a kick, “just once can’t you be fuckin’ _quiet_?”

Vasquez let’s out a ragged laugh and Faraday can feel the way his stomach muscles are clenching, a sure sign that he’s close, oh so close to finishing. “You going to make me, guero?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Faraday growls. He slides a hand down in between the press of their bodies, fingers stopping just shy of what he knows Vasquez wants. “Ah ah,” he says when Vasquez makes a frustrated noise, his hips bucking in a vain attempt to get Faraday to start moving again. “Knock it off with the theatrics first.”

“Joshua,” Vasquez grunts, frustrated again.

Faraday keeps his hand where it is, fingers tapping lightly over Vasquez’s stomach, refusing to go any lower until he gets what he’s after.

“Fine,” Vasquez huffs. “Cabrón.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Faraday agrees, knowing the word’s an insult even if he’s not one hundred percent sure of its official translation. He glides his hand over the plain of Vasquez’s stomach, this time continuing on until he can wrap it around the length of him.

Vasquez makes an aborted choking noise, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip to prevent the sound from escaping.

“Better,” Faraday chuckles, a blot of pleasure sizzling white hot in his own gut as he takes in the sight before him. “God, but you are beautiful like this,” he breathes.

His hand still working Vasquez’s cock, he leans forward and licks his way into the other man’s mouth, enjoying the way he can cut off the noises he’s so desperate to let out. “It’ll be different once we’re out on the open road,” he promises raggedly when he pulls back. “Once it’s just the two of us, I swear I’m gonna work you over and make you _scream_.”

Vasquez lets out a muffled groan, his entire body shuddering as he spills messily all over Faraday’s hand.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Faraday pants, bracing himself with one hand planted on the mattress, thrusting his hips forward as Vasquez shakes under him. “Just like that. Jesus fuck.” He thrusts a few more times, movements growing unsteady as he approaches his own climax, before following Vasquez over the edge.

“Shit,” Faraday breathes, his sides heaving as he slowly pulls out and collapses down onto the bed, half on top of Vasquez and half on the mattress.

He stays that way for a little while, taking the time to catch his breath as he comes down off the high that sex with Vasquez always gives him, only rousing when he feels something prickling at the edge of their bond. It feels an awful lot like smug satisfaction, and it makes Faraday raise his head up from the pillow to glare at his partner.

Vasquez, because he’s an absolute menace of a human being, grins sunnily back at him, well aware that he’s setting Faraday on edge and thoroughly enjoying it.

“Think highly of yourself, don’t you?” Faraday grouses, wishing he had the energy to put some real heat behind it.

Vasquez shrugs, and his grin slides more into smirk territory. Faraday sternly tells himself he’s imagining the rush of fondness the sight encourages in him.

A few more seconds pass and then Vasquez gives Faraday a sharp jab in the side, grinning when Faraday rolls his eyes. “Is there are reason we have to play this game every damn time?” He asks. He knows what Vasquez is after, they both do, and he doesn’t need to have the man’s boney fingers stabbing into his kidneys for something he’s already proven himself willing to do.

“You like it when I give you an excuse to complain,” Vasquez replies, laughter lurking in his voice and his bright amusement tickling Faraday through the bond. “Makes you feel better.”

On cue, Faraday makes a grumbling noise but obediently rolls onto his back, shuffling himself into position so that Vasquez can settle down with his head pillowed on Faraday’s chest, letting out a contented sigh as he does so.

“You’re so fuckin’ easy,” Faraday murmurs, carding his fingers through Vasquez’s hair, and grinning when this elicits a noise that can best be described as a purr.

“Not everything in life has to be as hard as you like to make it,” Vasquez tells him. “Some of us get by with minimal dramatics.”

“I’m a showman, sweetheart, always have been.” Faraday replies. “Dramatics are part of my trade.”

“That is not what I am talking about, and you know it.” There’s an unpleasant edge to his end of their bond now, and Faraday feels a sudden urge to get up and go beat his head against the wall.

“Please tell me you’re not gonna start this up again?” He asks. He’s not overly hopeful his request will be heeded, and Vasquez’s next words do little to appease him.

“If you’d just consider it for a moment …” He starts, obviously aiming for a conciliatory tone, but only succeeding in raising Faraday’s ire.

“I am not havin’ this discussion again, Vas. We’ve had it at least a hundred times already over the past week, and I ain’t in the mood to rehash it for the hundred and first.”

Vasquez makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and pinches Faraday in the hip because he’s a bastard like that. “I just don’t know why you won’t at least think about it.”

“I have thought about it,” Faraday protests. “I’ve thought about it and, in doin’ so, I’ve realized what a terrible idea it is. Hence why we ain’t doin’ it.”

“They’re good men, Joshua. They’re good men, we work well with them, and it would give us something do other than wander aimlessly across the country.”

Faraday sighs, wishing not for the first time that Vasquez didn’t always sound so damned logical whenever he brought this argument up. “Look,” he says finally, as he has so many times before. “I ain’t denyin’ that any of what you’re sayin’ is true. They _are_ good men. We _do_ work well with them. And it is, admittedly, more of a plan than we currently have. Just because all of the above are actual facts, does not mean I’m gonna change my mind on the matter.”

“But _why_?” Vasquez asks, just like he always does.

“Because I’m not,” Faraday replies, just like _he_ always does.

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s an answer,” Faraday disagrees. “It’s maybe not a very good one, but it is an answer.”

Vasquez makes an aggravated noise, and Faraday wishes for the umpteenth time that he knew how to put words to his reasoning for not wanting to join up with the rest of their band from Rose Creek on a permanent basis. As far as he’s concerned, his reasoning is sound, but Vasquez is of a decidedly different opinion.

When Sam Chisolm had asked them both if they wanted to sign on to travel with him and the rest of their fellows, Faraday had been oddly flattered, but just as equally uninterested. While he can see the appeal in it to some degree, his life has already changed extensively over the course of a couple of months – what with winding up with the soulbond he’d been desperately trying to avoid for most of his life, and then nearly dying in a blaze of glory – and he doesn’t think he can handle much more. It’s going to be enough to adjust to having _Vasquez_ as a permanent travelling companion after being alone for so much of his life, he doesn’t need to go and add a half a dozen characters all at once.

Unfortunately, Vasquez is of an entirely different opinion. As far as he’s concerned signing on with the others sounds like a grand idea, and he can’t seem to understand just how vehemently opposed to it Faraday is. Or, well, he understands that he is, thanks to the soulbond, but he can’t wrap his head around why and keeps picking at it as a result.

Huffing, Vasquez digs his chin into Faraday’s chest, and gives him a long look. “I don’t like travelling alone,” he says, mouth curling down in a frown, “I only did it before because I didn’t have a choice.”

Faraday grimaces at the subtle reminder that there’s still a bounty on his soulmate’s head. A five hundred dollar reward for anyone who can bring him in dead or alive means that Vasquez has spent the better part of the past year on his own and avoiding setting foot in even the most remote of towns on the off chance that someone might recognize him.

“You’re not gonna be alone,” he stresses. “Or do I not count?”

Vasquez rolls his eyes.

“No, seriously,” Faraday continues on undeterred. “Are you sayin’ I’m not good enough for you?” He softens the snipe with a grin, and earns himself a second eye roll in response.

“Of course you are good enough, Joshua. Don’t be so foolish, idiota. Obviously, if I have to pick one of the two options, I’m going to choose you.”

That’s not actually obvious as far as Faraday s concerned, but it’s nice to hear. He just wishes he felt confident that this will be the last time they have this conversation.

*****

“I’d ask if you had a nice sleep, but unfortunately I already know the answer all too well.”

Faraday glances up from his breakfast and finds himself face to face with an irritated looking Goodnight Robicheaux. He takes a moment to swallow the bite he’s just taken, swiping his sleeve over his mouth after he does so. “In my defence, I was tryin’ to be quiet.”

Dropping down in the seat across from Faraday, Goodnight quirks an eyebrow at him as he sets his own breakfast down on the table. “Am I supposed to thank you for that aborted kindness?”

Faraday shrugs. “I dunno. I guess you could at least recognize it for what it is?”

Goodnight snorts. “Have you any idea how hard it was for me to keep Billy from storming over and taking a knife to you both? My beloved does not take kindly to having his beauty sleep interrupted.”

“Your beloved also thinks killin’ a man is a good way to use a hairpin. I can’t say I find him to be the pinnacle of human rationality.”

Goodnight blinks and his mouth curves up into an amused grin in spite of itself. “I don’t know what I’m more impressed by: the fact that you had the nerve to make that crack or the fact that you used the word pinnacle correctly in a sentence.”

And Vasquez thought it’d be a good idea to travel with these people. Faraday scowls down at the remains of his meal and silently hopes that Goodnight will do them both a favour and shut up and eat quietly for once.

“You look troubled, Joshua.” Goodnight says, earning himself a glare. Vasquez is allowed to use Faraday’s given name, but that’s only because he has certain rights and privileges where the whole soulmate thing is concerned, rights and privileges that Goodnight most assuredly doesn’t share.

“It’s Faraday to you, thanks,” he snaps. “And I ain’t troubled. I’m just tryin’ to eat in peace and now you’ve come along to ruin it.”

“Yes, it _is_ frustrating to have one’s solitude disturbed unexpectedly.” Goodnight makes a face. “We might have to devise some sort of system once we’re all out on the road together.”

Faraday drops his cutlery onto his plate and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s far, far too early in the morning for this shit. “Robicheaux, I swear to the lord, if you start gettin’ involved in this too … It’s bad enough I’ve got Vasquez bringing it up every time I turn around, I don’t need you adding more fuel to the fire.”

“Ah,” Goodnight says. He takes a slow bite from his own plate, chewing thoughtfully for a few moments and then swallowing. “So I take it you’re still living squarely in the land of denial, are you? Really, Faraday, how much longer are you going to go on like this?”

“As long as it takes for the rest of you to get it through your thick heads,” Faraday snaps. He trails off with a frown when a prickling sensation starts up somewhere on Vasquez’s end of the bond. Wherever he is this morning, he now knows Faraday’s got his back up about something, meaning there’s a solid chance he’s going to come looking to suss out what the problem is.

“Spooked him again, did you?” Goodnight asks knowingly, nodding his head when Faraday scowls at him. “It’s going to take time for you both to get used to the full extent of a soulbond, son. Don’t worry about it.”

“Quit talkin’ at me like you know everythin’ that goes on in my head,” Faraday snarls. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Goodnight protests. “I’ve been there, remember? I know it was ten years ago that I got my own bond, but I know full well how much of an adjustment they can be. Take the advice while you can get it, Faraday. Especially if you truly do mean it when you say you’re not going to join up with us.”

“Not even you have the words for how much I mean it,” Faraday tells him. He pauses then, his attention turned inwards as he focuses on the bond and its latest bout of strangeness. “Ah hell,” he grumbles, pushing his mostly empty plate away from him. “He’s gettin’ all antsy again. I gotta go find him.”

Goodnight opens his mouth, obviously about to respond, and then pauses. Shrugging, he waves a hand at Faraday in acknowledgement and then tucks back into his meal.

Pleased to have been spared Goodnight’s latest verbal bombardment, Faraday climbs out of his seat and heads for the exit of the boarding house. Throughout the rebuilding of Rose Creek, Vasquez’s favorite hidey hole has been the burnt out – or previously burnt out, anyway – remains of the town church, which is where Faraday heads now.

The problem, Faraday muses thoughtfully as he leaves the boarding house and steps down from the veranda onto the street, is that he still has no real understanding of the soulbond or how to use it. Vasquez, possibly because he’d grown up liking the idea of having one, had taken to it like a duck to water, but he’s the only one. For his part, Faraday typically feels like he’s in over his head.

Where Vasquez can intentionally send Faraday whatever he’s feeling whenever he wants, or vice versa and block anything he doesn’t want getting through, Faraday’s a mass of contradictions who’s frequently transmitting things he doesn’t want to be, and not able to send things when he does want to. It’s a lot, basically, and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to be before he has everything under control again.

Upon reaching the threshold of the church, Faraday’s momentarily brought up short by the transformation that’s come over the building since the battle for Rose Creek. While Faraday had spent the majority of the time since the fight stuck recuperating – first in the infirmary, and then in their room at the boarding house – most of his fellows and the townsfolk had managed to put the place back together, none of which was more evident than in the church.

“You looking for something, guero?” A voice asks, and Faraday snaps back to the present and looks over at Vasquez. The man in question is bent over one of the pews, smoking one of his seemingly never ending supply of cigars and sanding the back of the seat.

“What do you think?” Faraday asks, stepping fully inside the building once he’s ascertained that Vasquez is the only other person present. “Wasn’t Teddy Q supposed to be helpin’ you in here?”

Vasquez snorts. “Teddy may be able to use a hammer when he’s boarding up a window, but that’s the end of his woodworking skills.”

Faraday can’t help but grin. “Kicked him out again, did you?” Vasquez has none to subtly sent Teddy packing during the repair period at least three times that Faraday’s aware of, if not more.

Vasquez shrugs and takes a drag of his cigar. “You say kicked out, I say nudged in a more productive direction. It’s a nicer way of putting it, no?”

“No,” Faraday replies. He comes closer and peers down at where Vasquez is carefully smoothing the wood beneath his hands. Unlike Teddy Q, Vasquez has turned out to have a real knack when it comes to woodworking and has put considerable effort into his work in the church. “Looks good.”

“Gracias,” Vasquez says. He raises an expectant eyebrow at Faraday. “You going to tell me what was bothering you just now?”

“Nope,” Faraday says brightly. He drops down into the already finished pew behind the one Vasquez is currently working on and weighs the pros and cons of propping his feet up on the seat in front of him. A born gambler though he may be, he figures the odds are about even that Vasquez will put his cigar out in Faraday’s eye if he makes a mess of his project.

As if he can sense where Faraday’s thoughts are heading, and, hell, maybe this time he can, Vasquez raises his head and gives Faraday a look that tells him in no uncertain terms to behave. Faraday grins back at him until Vasquez huffs and rolls his eyes. “Pórtate bien,” he says, and Faraday doesn’t need to speak the language to recognize an order when he hears one.

Leaning back in his seat, Faraday rests his hands on his stomach, twiddling his thumbs idly. “It happened again,” he says finally, feeling annoyed.

“Si, I felt it.” Vasquez agrees. Faraday wishes he could sound half as calm about it as Vasquez does.

“It _shouldn’t_ be happenin’,” he stresses, hands clenching into fists without his permission.

“Who says?” Vasquez asks, taking the cigar out of his mouth and stubbing it out somewhere Faraday can’t see. Once that’s done, he lays his tools on the seat of the pew and leans forward so that he can rest his arms over the back of it, eyes intent on Faraday. “You had a soulbond before that I don’t know about?”

“Obviously not.” Faraday makes a face at him. Sighing, he scrubs a hand over his eyes, frustrated by his inability to find the right words.

“Hey,” Vasquez stretches out a hand and pokes Faraday lightly in the chest, looking amused when Faraday makes a half-hearted swipe at him. “It’s not a problem.”

“Goodnight was raggin’ on me again,” Faraday says abruptly, not exactly sure if he should have admitted as much or not.

“Ah,” Vasquez says knowingly. He draws his arm back and rests his chin in the palm of his hand. “I was wondering if it was something like that. You don’t like it when others make fun of you.”

“He wasn’t makin’ fun of me,” Faraday denies, only belatedly realizing that means he’s going to have to reveal what Goodnight _was_ on his case for. “Though, for the record, there ain’t nobody who likes bein’ made fun of, I don’t think.”

“Maybe not, but some handle it better than others.”

“Fair point.”

“So what was he saying then?” Vasquez asks, like Faraday had known he would.

“He was pullin’ a you,” Faraday admits. “Goin’ on about the seven of us hittin’ the road together.”

“Ah.” Vasquez pulls back at that, and there’s now an edge in his tone that wasn’t there before. “And that made you angry.” It comes out as a statement of fact, as opposed to the question others might have taken it to be.

“You know it does,” Faraday says, the words coming out tightly through his suddenly clenched teeth.

“Which,” he continues on before Vasquez can get distracted and launch into his thousandth reiteration of why they should take Sam up on his offer, “is not my problem right now. I still can’t make the damned bond work right. If you were the one who got ticked off about something you’d have been able to let me know not to worry about it. I can’t do that for you. Not like I’m supposed to be able to anyway.”

“Maybe not yet.”

“Maybe not ever.” Faraday shoots back, his annoyance only increasing when Vasquez rolls his eyes.

“Guero, it’s not a competition,” Vasquez says firmly.

“Spoken like someone who’s a natural at this shit.”

“Ayy,” Vasquez groans. “Enough. Stop. No more. If I cannot bring up wanting to travel with the others any more than you cannot keep bringing up this.”

“The two are completely different, and you know it,” Faraday says hotly.

The fact of the matter is, the whole thing wouldn’t be nearly so frustrating if it weren’t something of a recent development. When Faraday had first woken up in the infirmary all those weeks ago, or at least once he and Vasquez had taken a few days to sort themselves out and figure what they wanted from each other, both sides of the bond had been functioning the way he’d always been taught they were supposed to – with each of them being able to communicate along it as if it were a two way street. Now, however, things weren’t running quite so smoothly.

While Vasquez is able to make the soulbond do all the things it’s supposed to do, Faraday’s much more hit or miss. He doesn’t have any trouble receiving what Vasquez wants to send him, but pretty much any time he tries to send something deliberately from his end it either doesn’t go through or it gets tangled up and parts of it get lost along the way.

It’d gotten to frustrating that Faraday had finally caved and asked Goodnight about it since, as the man liked to point out, he’d had his own issues when his soulbond had first come into play and therefore seemed like the best person to go to for advice. Unfortunately, Goodnight’s only suggestion had been to give it time and to stop trying to force the bond to do what he thought it should, which just went to show how little he understood how Faraday worked as a person.

“I don’t like it,” he says finally, feeling tired.

“You don’t like a lot of things,” Vasquez says lightly. “You didn’t like me at first, but you got over that. You’ll get over this as well.”

Faraday rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but feel a little mollified. The mechanics of soulbonds aside, he figures the universe might just have known what it was doing when it had seen fit to throw Vasquez in his path.

*****

The repairs to Rose Creek following the fight with Bogue are all but completed and the seven of them are making noise about moving on. The townspeople as a collective whole have made it clear that they don’t have to go, that each and every one of them is welcome to stay on for as long as he sees fit, but they’re all wanders by nature, none of them ready to settle down in the same place for long.

Much to his dismay, Vasquez has been entirely unsuccessful in his attempts to convince Faraday to join up with the rest of the seven. It looks like they’ll all be leaving within the weak, and when they go five will be heading in one direction and two more in a different one.

“Are you sure?” He asks, the last morning they’re due to help in the fields.

Only half dressed, Faraday pauses where he’s sitting on the bed and tugging on his shirt. He pauses with the sleeves bunched up around his arms and sighs far more dramatically than Vasquez feels is warranted. “Vas, exactly when do you plan to stop askin’ me that? I’m startin’ to worry we’ll be crossin’ state borders and you’ll still be yammerin’ on about wanting to go track down the others.”

Vasquez makes a face at him. “That doesn’t sound like a terrible idea to me, guero.”

“Great,” Faraday grumbles, and Vasquez feels a spark of annoyance through his end of the bond. He idly wonders if Faraday had meant to send it or if it’d been another one of his little accidents. “I can hardly wait.” He holds up a hand when Vasquez opens his mouth to respond. “Nope, let me stop you right there. We’ve got a long day ahead of us in the fields and I don’t want to be fightin’ the whole time. If you insist, we can talk about it later tonight. I mean, I ain’t changin’ my mind regardless, but you can keep tryin’ to convince me if it makes you feel better.”

Vasquez manfully resists the urge to glare at him. He supposes it’s something that Faraday’s at least showing a willingness to listen to him, but, since he suspects Faraday’s also just saying as much to try and momentarily appease him, he doesn’t read too much into it. “I am going to hold you to that,” he says, deliberately making the words sound ominous.

“Of that I’ve got no doubt,” Faraday replies, finally getting his shirt situation sorted out and then moving to tug on his boots.

They meet the others out in the fields and settle in for a day of hard labour. It goes smoothly enough until Sam realizes he’s forgotten a crate of tools back in one of the town’s storage sheds.

“Oh well done, Mr. Chisolm,” Goodnight chuckles, always happy to take a chance to tease his old friend when the opportunity arises. “I do love it when you do something to remind me that you’re as human as the rest of us, and not the omnipotent person you’d have us believe you were if possible.”

Vasquez feels a spark of what he can only classify as fond irritation coming from Faraday at Goodnight’s words and he has to fight the urge to laugh aloud. Goodnight would only call him out on it, however, leading them to waste even more time that could be spent working.

Clearing his throat, he tilts his head at Sam. “You want me to run back and grab whatever it is you forgot?” He volunteers.

At Sam's pleased nod, he shoots a quick grin back at the rest of the men and then starts back in the direction of Rose Greek. He moves fast enough that he's not wasting time, but not so fast that his little break will pass too quickly. He's feeling out of sorts after his latest failed attempt at convincing Faraday to travel as part of Sam's crew and he appreciates having a chance to take some time to himself and clear his head.

The storage shed where Sam's missing tools are kept sits just on the outside of Rose Creek itself. Vasquez lopes over to it as it comes into sight, pleased to note that the front door is unlocked and slightly ajar as he approaches. He wouldn't mind having to go track down one of the townsfolk for a key, but that'd make his errand take a bit too long even for his tastes and it's not like he wants to be wasting time.

Hauling the front door of the shed open, he steps inside and looks around for his intended quarry. He finds the crate Sam had mentioned lying off to one side and slowly makes his way over to it. There's no way he's going to be dragging the entire thing back with him, even if he could carry it all they don't need everything in here, so he needs to suss out what he wants to grab.

He's crouched down in front of the crate, his attention focused solely on it and not on anything else, when he hears someone clear their throat behind him. Standing, he's surprised to see two men he doesn't recognize come in behind him. Warning bells instantly going off in the back of his head. He's been in Rose Creek long enough now that he knows all the townspeople by sight if not by name, yet tese men are new, and he doesn't have any weapons on him, having left his gun belt back in the boarding house that morning. 

His alarm only intensifies when the older of the two men clears his throat and takes a step forward. Behind him, his much younger companion reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a piece of paper that he slowly unfolds and peers at intently. 

Upon seeing that paper, even if it's only the back of it, Vasquez has a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly what's going on here. Biting down the urge to curse he takes a step back and raises his hands.

"Can I help you?" He asks, trying to stall for time. That's got to be a copy of his damned warrant they have there. It's just got to be.

"That depends," the older man - Vasquez is positive he's the one in charge - cocks his head to the side and looks at his companion, who nods.

"It's him," the younger one says. "I'd bet my life on it."

"It's not your life we're betting, Eli," he older one says. He turns back to Vasquez. "It's his."

Vasquez opens his mouth to say something, though what he doesn't know, when he hears a sliding sound ring out behind him. He'd forgotten that this particular storage shed had a back entrance, and he's about to shift and see if he knows whoever's just come inside, except, he never gets the chance as a sickly sweet smelling cloth is forced over his nose and mouth and everything around him goes dark.

*****

Faraday’s mid-swing with a borrowed ax when he feels a sudden shot of wrongness go sparking through the soulbond. The unexpected feeling sends him stumbling into Red, the closest person to him, and he drops the ax in the process.

“Faraday?” Red reaches out a steadying hand, his grip firm on Faraday’s shoulder while an unusual note of concern is evident in his voice.

“Somethin’s wrong with Vas,” Faraday says, shaking his head to try and clear it. One moment Vasquez has been his usual pervasive presence, always curled up somewhere in the back of Faraday’s mind, and then there’d been a sharp burst of surprise followed by nothing. He wasn’t dead, that much Faraday was sure of, but it’d felt kind of like it did on nights when Vasquez was the first to drift off to sleep. Faraday knew he was still there, but it was muted and Vasquez wasn’t broadcasting anything to him.

Trying to push out from his end of the bond, Faraday curses when he gets nowhere. He doesn’t know if the problem is on his end, like usual, or if it’s Vasquez this time, but he does know he’s not getting through.

“I’ve gotta …” he starts, “I need to …” and then he just takes off at a dead run, bolting for the town and the structure he knew Vasquez had been heading for when he’d offered to go grab what Sam needed. He hears a bunch of startled shouting behind him, the others clearly not having expected him to just dart off on them like that, but then they’re following, every man among them moving quick enough that his lead has shrunk dramatically by the time he’s reached the outskirts of the town.

In the distance, a figure appears on the main street, darting directly towards them. Faraday feels his gut clench when it resolves itself into Emma Cullen, looking breathless and agitated. Her eyes dart from person to person, obviously counting them, and widen in alarm when she only comes up with six men.

“Where’s Vasquez?” She demands, and Faraday knows she’s not asking for curiosity’s sake. Something is very wrong here.

He opens his mouth to try and answer her, but his tongue suddenly feels like it’s too big for his mouth and no words come out. Shrugging uselessly, he’s quiet until Goodnight steps forward.

“Vasquez came back into town a little while ago to get some things we’d forgotten. Everything was fine until Faraday here felt something go off in their bond. The next thing we knew he was hightailing it for the town like a bat out of hell, and all the rest of us could do was follow him.”

At his words, Emma swears like only Emma can, cutting and vicious. Shoving back a lock of hair that’s come free of its tie, she looks at Faraday, meeting his worried gaze head on. “There’re bounty hunters in town,” she says, her words clipped. “At least two, maybe more. They came sniffing around the inn a little while ago with a copy of that damned warrant. Said they’d heard Vasquez might be hiding out in these parts and wanted to know if anybody had seen him. All the folks who were there said no, but I don’t need to be psychic to tell you they didn’t believe us.”

Faraday feels something cold and horrified settle in the pit of his stomach. Intellectually he’d known there were men out in the world who’d likely come looking for Vasquez with every intention of doing him harm, but it’s another thing entirely to have the whole mess unravel right in front of his face.

“We need to find him,” he chokes, his voice coming out ragged and brittle in spite of his best efforts to rein it in.

“We will,” Sam assures him. He steps forward and claps and unusually gentle hand on Faraday’s shoulder, shaking him slightly until Faraday nods his head in reluctant agreement.

“Good.” Sam says, and then he turns back to Emma. “You said there were two of them? Where were they last seen?”

“At least two,” she confirms, “and I only saw them at the inn. They headed down the street towards the stable when they left, and as soon as I felt they were safely out of sight I headed to come find all of you. I’d thought Vasquez was still out in the field and figured I could warn him to stay out of sight.” She hangs her head and looks uncommonly ashamed. “I didn’t realize he was back in town already.”

“And there’s no way you could have,” Sam tells her when Faraday can’t. It’s not that he thinks what’s happening is Emma’s fault, he just can’t bring himself to form the words when he’s half-paralyzed with worry.

Goodnight clears his throat and steps forward to flank Faraday on the side opposite from Sam. “Vasquez was headed for the storage shed. Some of us should start searching there, and the rest can canvas the likely places those bounty hunters might be.”

“I’m heading for the shed,” Faraday says firmly, finding his voice once again.

“Fine,” Sam agrees. “Red and I will go with you. Everybody else,” he adds, turning to face the rest of the group, “start searching in town, but try not to look too suspicious. We don’t want to spook these bastards if they’re still here.”

The suggestion that the bounty hunters may have already left – left and taken Vasquez with them – makes Faraday bite down on something that can only be described as a whimper. He’d like to believe nobody heard what little noise did escape, but the comforting hand Goodnight briefly rests on his elbow tells him otherwise.

Vasquez isn’t in the storage shed, but the gear he’d been meant to grab still is. Seeing it, Faraday feels as if the lead weight that’s been slowly settling in the depths of his stomach gets, somehow, impossibly heavier.

“Either of you see any signs of a struggle?” Sam asks, peering into the shadows of the shed as if he’s half-expecting Vasquez to be lurking within one of them.

Red crouches down in the doorway, a frown etched into his face. “I don’t,” he admits, still looking at the ground, “but that doesn’t mean something didn’t happen.”

“The fuck it doesn’t,” Faraday snaps, all this worry putting his temper on an even shorter fuse than usual. “There’s no way Vas would just let a couple of idiot bounty hunters take him down without a fight.”

Still kneeling down by the door, Red looks up at him and says, softly, like he’s eyeing a skittish horse, “He might if they took him by surprise.”

Sam makes a noise of disapproval. “You think they gave him a whack upside the head or something similar?”

“No,” Faraday shakes his head and cuts Red off before he has a chance to answer. “I’d have known if he was in pain. I’d have felt it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam make a face at this, but before he can call the man out on it, Red is rising to his feet. “There are ways to stop a man without causing him pain. Maybe they drugged him.”

The idea brings Faraday up short. “He was awake one minute and not the next,” he says slowly, remembering how the whole thing had reminded him of what Vasquez feels like when he’s drifting off to sleep. “God, that might be exactly what happened. Shit.”

“Faraday,” Sam says quickly, hands raised in a calming gesture. “If they knocked him out – however they may have done it – someone will have seen them dragging him off. He’s a big fella and that kind of thing is liable to attract some attention.”

“Sam, use your fuckin’ eyes, would you?” Agitated, Faraday throws out his arms to indicate the empty street behind them in a large, sweeping gesture. “There ain’t no one around now, and there likely wasn’t when whatever happened happened either. Everyone’s always too busy out in the fields these days.”

“Faraday,” Sam says firmly, yet not unkindly, “you need to calm down. Histrionics are not going to help the situation. It’s the middle of the goddamned day and broad daylight, someone will have seen something.”

“Histrionics?” Faraday echoes, thrown off by the word. “What, are you channeling Goodnight now? Sam, this ain’t helpin’!”

“Neither is the yelling,” says Red in his quiet way. He gives Faraday a look not unlike the one Sam had, but for some reason it’s more calming coming from him. “We will find him.”

Somewhat appeased in spite of himself, Faraday breathes in deeply and then lets it out slowly. “Right,” he says once he’s repeated the motion a time or two. “What now?”

“Now we regroup and find out if anyone else had better luck than we did.” Sam nods towards the entrance of the shed and waves a hand to indicate that Red and Faraday should follow him.

Still feeling antsy in a way he can’t shake, Faraday does as instructed, blinking as he leaves the relative darkness of the shed and steps back out into the harsh sunlight.

They’ve barely made it a few feet down the street when a sudden commotion sounds in the distance and Goodnight rounds a nearby corner with Teddy Q and a young woman whose name Faraday can’t remember hot on his heels.

“Sam!” Goodnight calls, waving them over as soon as they’re within his sights. “They’re gone. Teddy and Ella saw them riding out a little while back and came running to find someone to tell.” He pauses, and looks over at Faraday. “They’ve got Vasquez.”

“They had him over the back of one of their horses,” the woman – Ella Forsythe, Faraday now remembers – tells them. “We couldn’t tell if he was dead or just unconscious though.”

“It’d have to be unconscious,” Goodnight says. “Faraday’d know otherwise. Trust me on this.”

“He’s not dead,” Faraday agrees, nodding furiously. Turning on his heel, he starts to head back in the direction they’d just come from since it’ll take him to the stables.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Goodnight says, lunging forward and grabbing Faraday by the arm before he can take more than a few steps.

“The hell, Robicheaux?” Faraday demands. He tries to shake free, but Goodnight’s grip is surprisingly tenacious. “Let go of me!”

“Not a chance,” Goodnight barks. “I know what you’re thinking, Faraday. I’ve been there myself, and you need to know you can’t just go running off half-cocked. There’s a solid chance you’ll just get either yourself or Vasquez killed if you go charging after him without so much as a by your leave. You don't even have your guns on you for hell's sake!"

“He’s right,” Sam says, and beside him Red nods. “We need a plan, Faraday. We need to get as much information as we can, and supplies, and then we can head out.”

“We?” Faraday repeats.

Sam and Goodnight share an exasperated look and Red actually pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Faraday,” Sam grits out. “We. You do realize we’re going to help you get him back, don’t you?”

In hindsight, Faraday acknowledges he probably shouldn’t be surprised. In actuality, he finds the offer somewhat unexpected.

The silence stretches on for a few more seconds, and then Sam and Goodnight share another exasperated look, this time one complete with matching rolls of their eyes.

“Come on, Faraday,” Goodnight says, using the grip he still has on Faraday’s arm to start tugging him along. “The others and Miss Emma are all gathered at the inn. Let’s go try and figure out what we’re dealing with and then we’ll see about getting Vasquez back.”

As far as he’s concerned, the only reason Faraday lets himself be dragged along is because he’s rational enough to see how having men at his back will help him take on a bunch of bounty hunters, rather than trying to do it on his lonesome. Oh, he’s sure he could manage it, but the extra help will pose less of a risk to Vasquez and that has to be taken into consideration.

Still, there’s a limit to how long he’s willing to wait. “This had better not take too long,” he growls as he’s hauled through the inn’s entrance.

True to Goodnight’s word, the others and Emma are already present. They’ve hauled a map out from somewhere and are peering down at intently. As Faraday watches, Horne traces a finger along the piece of paper, saying something that makes Billy nod his head in agreement.

The two men and Emma look up at the sound of the inn’s doors swinging open.

“Talk to me, gentleman, and lady,” Sam adds, nodding at Emma. “What are we thinking here?”

“Does the name Ezekiel Bradbury mean anything to you?” Billy asks. He nods at Emma. “That was the name one of the bounty hunters gave to Emma when they spoke with her. Have you ever heard of him?”

Sam lets out a low whistle and nods. “I’ve never met him, but I know the name. You sure it was him?” He asks Emma.

She snorts. “Sam, I wouldn’t know the man from Adam – never heard the name before in my life until today – but that’s the one he gave me.”

“Alright,” Sam says. He motions them all towards the table with the map on it. “If it is Bradbury, then I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Meaning?” Faraday asks, not caring how testy he sounds as he does so.

“Bradbury’s got a reputation for something of a streak of nobility among warrant officers,” Sam tells the room. “That’s the good news. He prefers to take his men in alive and supposedly only kills when he doesn’t have a choice. So, Vasquez should be safe enough until we can catch up with him.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Sam frowns, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Now, you have to understand, I’ve never met the man _or_ those he runs with. All I’ve got is a bunch of conjecture.”

“Sam,” Faraday grits out. “Would you just fuckin’ spill whatever it is you’re trying so hard not to tell us.”

Sighing, Sam lets his hand drop down and squares his shoulders. “Ezekiel Bradbury has a reputation for being a decent man. The same cannot be said for his younger brother, Josiah. The two of them, plus another brother – the youngest one I believe, though I can’t say I’ve ever heard much about that one – all work in a group. Rumour has it that any time the men they’ve been taking in have ‘accidents’, Josiah’s usually to blame.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Faraday snaps, biting back a curse. “So you’re sayin’ a fuckin’ lunatic has my … my … has _Vas_.”

“Only for now, Faraday.” Teddy Q pipes up.

Startled, Faraday turns to look behind him, surprised to see that both Teddy and his lady friend have tagged along as well. Teddy meets his eyes, and nods slowly.

“Right,” Faraday says finally. “You’re right. Sure.”

“Alright,” Goodnight says then. He holds up a hand when everyone shifts to look at him, raising a finger each time he makes a corresponding point. “We know who we’re dealing with, we know when they left, and we know where they left from. From where I’m sitting it stands to reason all we need to figure out is where they’re heading and we should be golden.”

“My best guess is here,” Horne says, pointing at the map in front of him. Faraday cranes his neck to look and sees that the old man’s finger is resting on a town that’s several days ride from Rose Creek.

“Why there?” He asks.

“Because it’s the nearest town with a warrant office, and it’s in the right direction from where our new friends have left.”

Sam stares at the map intently for a few more seconds, and then nods his head decisively. “Makes sense. Plus, since we know where they left from, we’ll be able to track them.” He lets his gaze sweep around the room, nodding pointedly at each of the usual suspects in turn. “I’m not for taking any of the townsfolk on this ride, but everybody else is welcome. Grab what you need and then get your asses to the stables. These folks already have a couple hours head start, and there’s no need to be giving them much more than that.”

*****

“Tell me again why we ain’t left yet?” Faraday barks as he stomps after Sam. They’re heading for the stables, gear in hand, but if Faraday’d had his way, they’d have hit the road over an hour ago.

“Because it’s a damn stupid idea to go runnin’ off into the unknown half-cocked and without proper supplies.” Sam shoots back. It’s possible that Faraday’s attitude is starting to rile him somewhat.

“No,” Faraday disagrees, “what’s damn stupid is leavin’ Vas in the hands of a bunch of bounty hunters for any longer than he has to be.”

“That’s not what we’re doing, Faraday,” Sam says. Faraday can tell he’s trying to keep a lid on his temper, but the strain is starting to show in his voice. It’s just a pity for him that Faraday doesn’t give a fuck.

“That _is_ what we’re doin’,” he insists. “At this rate, we’re only gonna have an hour or two’s riding time before the damn sun goes down. Then we’re stuck havin’ to make camp, and he’s with these assholes for an entire _night_. Are you honestly tellin’ me that sounds alright to you?”

“No, Faraday, I am not sayin’ that at all, but you’re just bitchin’ for the sake of hearing yourself talk at this point. We’re leaving now, and we’re going to get him back. _Trust me_.”

Faraday huffs, but doesn’t say anything further. It’s not that he doesn’t trust, Sam, of course he does. He’d trusted the man to watch his back as he rode head on into enemy fire on a kamikaze suicide run, and if that didn’t show a serious amount of belief then he didn’t know what did. It’s just that this is Vasquez they’re talking about here, and Faraday’s not exactly rational where he’s concerned.

Granted, Faraday’s not exactly known for being rational at the best of times, but it’s worse when Vasquez is involved.

“I just want him back, Sam.” He says finally, picking up the pace as the stables come into view.

Sam doesn’t reply, not verbally, but he once again claps a hand on Faraday’s shoulder for a second as they arrive at the stables.

“You boys all set?” Goodnight asks when he spots them. “Everyone else is present and accounted for. Why, we even had the decency to get your horses ready for you.”

Faraday wonders which of them had had the nerve to get close enough to Jack to get a saddle on him, but he figures out the answer as soon as he sees Emma coming around a corner with the horse in question in tow. Trust the damn animal to be led astray by a pretty face.

“Thanks,” Faraday says, nodding at her. He throws his bag over Jack’s back, fastening it appropriately, and then takes the reins from Emma’s hands.

Emma steps in close as he swings himself up into the saddle. She rests a hand on his knee and looks up at him, her gaze intent. “You bring him back now, you hear? There’s been far too much death in these parts of late, and I refuse to add another friend to that list.”

His throat suddenly tight, Faraday simply gives her a nod as he nudges Jack to get him moving.

*****

Vasquez wakes slowly and with a pounding in his head that temporarily makes the world spin. Fighting the urge to retch, he tries to bring his hands up to rub at his temples, only to realize they’re tied behind his back. Fighting the urge to panic, he shakes his head to try and clear it, trying to push at the ropes binding his wrists at the same time.

“That’s not a good idea,” someone says, and Vasquez looks up to see one of the men who’d appeared in the storage shed doorway however many hours ago walking slowly towards him.

It’s dark out now, which is worrisome in its own right because it means he’s lost a number of hours since these men had first made their appearance, and the bounty hunter cuts a disconcerting figure as he steps around a crackling campfire, coming to a rest and crouching down a few feet in front of Vasquez.

“You’re better off giving yourself some time to come to before going and acting all agitated like. The stuff we knocked you out with is fairly potent, and it can do a number on a person’s body if they push themselves too soon after getting doused with it.”

Squinting at him in the dim light, Vasquez runs his tongue over dry lips. “Who the hell are you?”

The man spreads his hands wide. “Ezekiel Bradbury. Zeke to my friends and family. My bothers and I are duly sworn warrant officers in, well, it doesn’t really matter where. What _does_ matter, Mr. Vasquez, is that you’ve got a fairly substantial warrant sitting on your head and it’s one we aim to collect on.”

“I’d already figured that out, thank you,” Vasquez grunts.

“I figured as much,” Bradbury says easily, “what with Elijah waving it in your face before we knocked you out, and all. You’d have to be a fair sight dumber than I imagine you are not to have put two and two together.”

Vasquez is going to assume Elijah is the younger man, younger brother apparently, who he can vaguely recall having approached him back in the storage shed, along with this Bradbury. That’s at least two bounty hunters he can put a face to, plus a third he didn’t see who’d done the job of knocking him out. He’s therefore facing a minimum of three to one odds, if not more, he’s tied up, and he’s weaponless. Not even Faraday would appreciate those odds.

Faraday.

Vasquez blanches suddenly as he clues in to the fact that the feeling of low grade panic that’s been present in the back of his head since he’d woken up doesn’t belong to him. In his hazy state he’d forgotten all about Faraday and the soulbond.

 _Lo siento_ , _cariño_ , he thinks, reaching out through the bond, and wishing not for the first time that he could send thoughts along it as well as emotions. _I only forgot about you for a moment, I promise_.

As usual, he doesn’t get a clear response back from Faraday, but he can tell his own attempts have gotten through simply because the feeling of panic subsides and is replaced with a mixture of overwhelming relief, substantial frustration, and what can best be described as pure, unadulterated rage. It seems Faraday is less than pleased with the situation they’ve found themselves in.

Faraday’s anger – irritating though it may be at times when Vasquez is trying to concentrate on other things – is helpful in this instance, as it clears away some of the fog still lingering in his head. He looks back over at Bradbury – and what kind of grown man prefers to be known as Zeke anyway? – and gets a raised eyebrow in response.

“I see you’re still a bit out of it then,” he says, apparently having misinterpreted Vasquez’s distraction with his soulbond for the aftereffects of whatever drugs they’d knocked him out with. “I’ll leave you be for now. We can talk later.”

And with that, he climbs back to his feet and heads over to where two other men are sitting. Vasquez recognizes one of them as the other person who’d been with Bradbury in the storage shed – Elijah, apparently – but the other, a large man with an unpleasant countenance, he’s never seen before. If he had to guess, he figures the second man is probably the one who’d come up behind him in the shed while his attention was focused on the other two.

He doesn’t see any others with them, and a glance over at the edge of their camp reveals only three horses munching on feed. It’s still possible that there are more men he hasn’t seen yet, but for now it appears to be just the three of them.

The unpleasant looking one comes wandering over while Vasquez is still trying to get his bearings. “Josiah Bradbury,” he says when Vasquez cranes his neck back to peer up at him. “I’m the one who’ll be making sure you behave yourself on this little trip we’re all takin’ together.”

There'a something worrisome lurking in the edge of the man's voice, and Vasquez does not like the sound of that at all. He resolves to do whatever he can to keep an eye on Josiah, and while he’s at it, to do whatever he can to get away from these people as soon as possible. Waiting to be rescued is all well and good, but if an opportunity arises to get out of here on his own, he’s going to take it.

*****

Just like Faraday had predicted, the sun drops down below the horizon long before they’ve caught up with Vasquez and the men who’ve taken him. Growling low under his breath, he climbs down off of Jack’s back and moves to tie the horse up.

“Doin’ alright, Faraday?” Goodnight asks as he sidles up out of the gloom with his own horse in tow.

“What do you think?” Faraday snaps. Vasquez had woken up sometime within the last hour, but while it was a relief to be able to feel him again, the low grade worry that was now flickering from his end of the bond was getting Faraday’s back up something fierce. He was very much going to enjoy dealing with the people who’d made his soulmate feel that way.

For his part, Goodnight just sighs and shakes his head sadly. “I think you’re probably tying yourself in knots with all the worrying you’re pretending you’re not doing. I know I would be if I were you.”

“Yeah, well you ain’t me,” Faraday snarls, and then immediately stomps down on his own anger. The last thing in the world Vasquez needs right now is to be feeling Faraday’s ire on top of everything else. “Sorry,” he says tightly, hoping the apology might help him get himself under control. “As you can see, I’m not doin’ all that well.”

“No apologies necessary,” Goodnight tells him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Faraday appreciates the sentiment, truly he does, but there’s sweet fuck all anybody’s going to be able to do for him until Vasquez is back safe and sound. "No," he says tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face, "but thanks for the offer all the same."

*****

As far as Vasquez is concerned, if the Bradbury brothers didn’t want him to try and escape then they shouldn’t have left him with his legs untied. Doing so meant he’d only had to worry about getting his hands free, and with them tied behind his back, none of the brothers had even been able to see when he’s started flexing his arms to try and loosen the bonds.

It was maybe a stupid risk to take, especially when he knew Faraday was on his way, likely with back up in tow, but there was no guarantee his captors wouldn’t see fit to shoot him before then – Josiah in particular had the look of a man who enjoyed killing far too much – and Vasquez hadn’t survived all these years on his own by waiting on the help of others.

Unfortunately for him, he doesn't realize the lingering effects the drugs have had on him until he's on his feet and hit with a wave of nauseua. This combines with how he's unfamiliar with the terrain and an unsuspecting tree root rises up out of the dark before he can spot it and sends him sprawling before he manages to shake the men on his tail. It’s Zeke who catches up with him first, and Vasquez doesn’t miss the way the bastard trains a gun on him with every indication that he’ll be willing to use it if pressed.

“I really wouldn’t move if I was you,” the man says, looming over Vasquez from where he’s landed heavily in the brush. “I may like bringing my catches in alive, but I will put a bullet between your eyes if cross me enough.”

They dump him unceremoniously on the ground next to the campfire, his arms once again tightly bound at his back, and Vasquez grunts in pain thanks to the awkward landing. “You always this gentle with your prisoners?” He asks, looking up at Elijah who’s now standing over him holding another length of rope. If Vasquez had to guess, he’d wager his legs are about to become as tied as his hands.

“Jesus Christ,” the younger man hisses, confirming Vasquez’s suspicions as he leans down and begins lashing his legs together with the rope in his hands. “Don’t you ever shut up, you fucking idiot?”

Vasquez can’t help but grin up at him. He knows it’s a stupid thing to do, knows he’s only going to make an already unpleasant situation all the more worse, but the adrenaline from his near escape is still pumping through his veins, leaving him practically giddy with it.

There’s something in the way Elijah is acting, however, that sets off warning bells in the back of his mind. He’s nervous, and he shouldn’t be, not when he and his brothers are the ones with all the power right now.

“What’s the matter, niño?” He asks. “Not happy that your money almost got away from you?”

“Shut up,” Elijah says furiously. “Just shut up, would you? This is already going to be bad enough, and the more you talk, the worse it’s going to get.”

“Talking’s about all I’ve got left right now, thanks to your lot,” Vasquez spits out. “I don’t see why I should have to give that up too.”

Elijah makes a wordless noise of frustration and knots the last of the rope around Vasquez’s ankles. He glares at Vasquez, his eyes bright in the light of the campfire. “Fine,” he breathes raggedly, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Vasquez wants to ask him what he means by that, but he’s distracted by Josiah’s arrival. The big man aims a kick at him that sets Vasquez hacking as all the air is forced out of his lungs, and then leans down to grip his hand painfully in Vasquez’s hair, forcing his head back even as he keeps coughing.

“You,” Josiah says darkly, “are going to regret that, amigo. Unlike me.”

Since Vasquez is more than bright enough to figure out what that’s supposed to mean, he doesn’t bother asking for clarification, and chooses instead to brace himself for the inevitable beating as best he can. However, rather than come at him with fists and feet, Josiah grunts angrily and backs away.

Vasquez raises his head to track the other man, notes with some alarm that both Zeke and Elijah seem to have vanished, and becomes even more alarmed when he sees Josiah stop near the fire and appear to remove something from it. Josiah turns back to him and the item in his hand reveals itself to be a knife, one with handle heavily wrapped in leather and the blade glowing in the dark thanks to its time being heated by the fire.

“Like I said,” Josiah says as he steps closer, “you’re going to regret that.”

*****

When Faraday jolts awake in the middle of an already fitful sleep, he brings the rest of the camp along with him. “They’re hurtin’ him!” He barks, all too aware that the sudden, burning pain in his side is not his own. “The fuckin’ bastards are hurtin’ him!”

“Easy, Faraday. Easy.” And that’s Sam’s voice echoing out of the darkness, of-fucking-course it is. Sam Chisolm is the only man alive who could be rudely awakened by a member of his crew shouting into the night about all manner of things tortured and pained, and still wind up not so much as batting an eyelid. “Tell us how you know that.”

Faraday stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “How do you think I know, Sam? I can fuckin’ feel it!” He gestures to his still stinging side as if that might help them get his point. “They did something’ to him. Not with a gun, I know well enough what that feels like. A knife, maybe? No, wait,” he tries to focus on the pain and keeps coming back to the way heat seems to be playing a role.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes, “I think they burned him.”

Somewhere on the other side of the now depleted fire, he hears Horne start murmuring one of his godforsaken prayers in the darkness, and then Goodnight pipes up.

“Why in hell’s name would they do that? They’ve left him untouched this long. Why change their pattern now?”

As Faraday struggles and fails to choke back a moan at this, Sam says grimly, “There’s only one reason to hurt a man you’re trying to bring in alive – he tried to run, might have almost made it too, and now they’re warning him not to do it again.”

Goodnight makes a disapproving noise from his place on the other side of the fire. “That isn’t right, Sam, and you know it. You don’t torture a man you’re trying to bring in, you hobble him. Tie him at the wrists and ankles, sure, maybe even blindfold him for good measure, but there’s no sense in beating a man you’re already dragging to the noose. Not when he’s worth the same amount of money dead as he is alive, anyway, like Vasquez is.”

“Maybe if it’s you or me we’re talking about, Goody,” Sam agrees, “but there’s plenty of bounty hunters our there who’s preferred strategy is to do both, and I already told you what I’ve heard about Josiah Bradbury.”

As Goodnight makes a disgusted noise, like he can’t believe there are people on the earth who’d act in such an unchivalrous manner, despite all evidence to the contrary, Faraday is startled by a sudden press of fingers on his shoulder. Turning, he finds himself face to face with Billy, the other man apparently having shifted away from his usual place at Goodnight’s side and slunk over into Faraday’s personal space without him noticing.

“What is it?” Faraday asks raggedly, still too caught up in Vasquez’s pain to focus properly. “What do you want?”

“You can help him,” Billy says lowly. “If you’ll just calm down, you can help.”

Faraday stares at him. “How?” He demands, only resisting the urge to grab the smaller man and shake him because he knows Billy won’t consider his panicked state a sufficient reason not to stab him. “What do I do?”

“First of all, you calm down,” Billy repeats, still in that same, measured way of his. “Then you use the bond.”

“How?” Faraday demands again, trying to do as Billy says and get his emotions under control. It doesn’t appear to be working.

“You remember after Bogue, all that time you spent lying on your back in the infirmary, just trying to fight through the pain?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You remember how Vasquez took some of that pain away, or at least blocked it so that it became more bearable?” When Faraday nods, Billy returns the gesture in kind. “Good, now you do the same for him.”

“I can’t,” Faraday protests. “Vas had to be touchin’ me for that trick to work, and, given it’s the sole reason we’re out here, I reckon you’ve noticed that he’s missin’ right now.”

Billy makes a frustrated noise, and for one, brief moment Faraday’s positive the man’s going to say to hell with it and shove a knife between his ribs. The moment passes, however, and then Billy says. “You don’t need to be touching for it to work. It’s easier, yes, but it’s just like how you can send what you’re feeling through the bond. Only instead of sending your own feelings, you send what you want _him_ to be feeling. You just, I don’t know, you soothe.”

“Soothe?” Faraday echoes incredulously. “Seriously, soothe? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“It’ll help,” Billy says, teeth gritted in obvious annoyance. “Trust me.”

Faraday huffs out a shaken breath and turns back to look at Billy. "Didn't Goodnight tell you?" He asks, surprised by the idea that he hadn't. "I can't make the bond work right," he clarifies when Billy raises an eyebrow at him. "Stuff from my end doesn't get through properly. There's no way I can do what you're suggestin'."

Billy watches him carefully for a few seconds and then calmly smacks Faraday in the back of the head. Ignoring his pained yelp, he says, "You need to get out of your own head. Stop overthinking things. You know how to make the bond work."

Rubbing the back of his head sullenly, Faraday graces him with the best skeptical look he can currently muster, but he knows he’s too stressed to put much heat in it. _Soothe_ , he thinks to himself, trying to force himself to remain calm, only to land somewhere just left of hysterical instead. He can barely take care of himself at the best of times, and now he’s being made responsible for doing it for somebody else. What kind of idiot thought that was a good idea?

Still, the thing of it is, this isn’t just some random fellow they’re talking about here. No, this is Vasquez. Stubborn, gregarious, and oh-so-full-of-life Vasquez. If Faraday can’t even do this much for him, then he truly doesn’t deserve everything the other man has offered him, everything he didn’t know he either wanted or needed until Vasquez was right there in front of him, ready and willing to place all that he had in the palm of Faraday’s hand.

Trying to gather his wits about him, Faraday sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He wishes now that he’d been more willing to talk with Vasquez about what had gone down all those nights he’d stayed by Faraday’s shaking, slowly healing body in the infirmary. Vasquez had somehow known exactly what to do to ease the pain of all that, but Faraday? Faraday doesn’t have a clue.

“You need to relax,” Billy says, still firmly planted at Faraday’s side. “Forget about whatever you’re feeling, and just focus on him.”

Faraday nods brusquely, blowing a ragged gust of air out through his nose. “Yeah,” he says, sides heaving with the effort of trying to contain everything he’s feeling. “I can do that. I can absolutely do that.”

“You said you can feel his pain?” At Faraday’s nod, Billy continues. “Good, that’s good. Can you feel anything else from him? Or is that all he’s feeling right now?”

“I – no?” Faraday says slowly, unwilling to admit just what it is that Vasquez is also feeling. Luckily for him, or perhaps unluckily, Billy Rocks is a perceptive man.

“He’s scared, isn’t he?” Billy says, his tone making it plain that he doesn’t need Faraday’s confirmation.

Faraday gives it to him anyway. “Yeah,” he says, nodding his head jerkily. “He was … concerned, I suppose you could call it, before, probably on account of waking up to find himself kidnapped by warrant officers, no doubt, but now it’s worse.”

“So tell him you’re coming,” Billy says simply. “That alone should bring comfort in itself.”

Faraday blinks, blindsided by the simplicity of the suggestion, unable to parse out why he hasn’t seen it as a viable option before. Vasquez loves it when Faraday uses their bond to make his presence known. He goes pliant, damned near stupid with affection, any time Faraday so much as pokes him with it, always reaching back with his own tendrils of emotion and ever receptive to Faraday acknowledging what exists between them. Even if Faraday can't manage to send exactly what he intends along the bond, sending something should be worthwhile.

“Rocks, you are a goddamned genius,” Faraday breathes, practically lightheaded with the sense of relief that’s just washed over him.

For his part, Billy gives a minute shrug of one shoulder. “I know,” he agrees, slowly climbing to his feet as he does so. He dusts his hands off on his pants and makes like he’s going to go reclaim his place by Goodnight’s side. "Just remember what I said. Don't overthink it and you'll be fine.

“Hey, Billy?” Faraday says absently, his concentration already turned inward towards the bond and how he can use it to help Vasquez. “Thanks.”

He’s never been one for expressing much in the line of gratitude, but he figures if anyone deserves it right now, Billy does. Billy responds with a slight incline of his head, and then he’s gone, slipping off as quietly as he’d come.

“Alright then.” Faraday takes another deep breath and settles himself into a sitting position, resting one hand on each of his knees as he wills himself to concentrate. Closing his eyes to ward off the sight of his fellows as they watch him curiously, he digs down deep inside himself, looking for the spot where the bond is anchored. He finds it after a bit of digging since it is after all always there, always a part of him, and dives in with plenty of determination, if not much grace.

 _Hey, Sweetheart_ , he thinks gently, or at least as gently as a man like him can.

Vasquez doesn’t seem to notice him at first, seemingly too caught up in his own pain to realize he’s no longer alone. It’s only when Faraday keeps pressing, still gently, but no less insistently, that he feels surprised recognition stir on the other end of their tether.

 _That’s right_. Faraday thinks. _I’m here. I’m comin’ for you. We’re gonna bring you home, I promise_.

The words themselves won’t get through, that’s not how soulbonds work. The sentiments though, those can hopefully be communicated with little to no difficulty, so long as the other party is willing to receive them. And willing Vasquez is, leaving himself wide open for Faraday to slide along their bond, bringing every vestige of comfort he can along with him.

*****

Vasquez comes back to himself slowly, and with no small amount of help from Faraday, wherever he may be. The burning pain in his side is still there, but it’s not as bad as it first was, meaning at least now he can breathe through it. He sends a wave of gratitude in Faraday’s direction and gets a bolt of relief lancing his way in response, the action soothing more because of who it comes from than for any other real reason.

“You’re still with us then,” Josiah says from somewhere behind him.

Vasquez automatically shrinks away from the sound of his voice, alarmed by his inability to see the man.

“I’ve had one or two die on me from that trick,” Josiah continues on thoughtfully. “I’ve had to try and refine it a bit over the years.

Vasquez wants so badly to snarl at the man, to spit fierce curses and dire threats of what’s going to happen to him when Faraday and the others catch up, but he bites his tongue. Unlike his brothers, Josiah is obviously a creature of violence, and there’s no telling how he might react to such behaviour. For his part, Vasquez would very much like to still be alive and in one piece when his friends arrive.

Josiah must mistake his silence for meekness because he chuckles nastily as he comes into view, tucking the knife he’d lain flat against Vasquez’s torso into the sheath on his belt. He crouches down low in front of where Vasquez is lying bound near the edge of the campfire. Stretching out a hand, he laughs unpleasantly again when Vasquez can’t help but try and flinch away from him as he curls his fingers around the hem of Vasquez’s shirt.

Lifting it up he makes a tsking sound as he inspects his handiwork. “I can’t say that looks overly pleasant,” he says, shaking his head. “Shame on you for making me do it.”

“Josiah!” Zeke barks from the opposite side of the fire. He and Elijah had reappeared sometime after Vasquez had stopped screaming, the cowards. “Come away from him, will you? He ain’t going anywhere at this point.”

“Shouldn’t have gone anywhere in the first place,” Josiah growls. He digs his fingers into the open wound when he stands, making Vasquez howl as he goes.

“Goddamnit, Josiah!” Zeke swears, only Vasquez can barely hear him. Faraday felt that one loud and clear, and his rage is hammering Vasquez like a battering ram, so angry that someone’s caused him more pain.

“Ah, guero, calm down,” Vasquez mumbles weakly under his breath, teeth gritted against the agony in his side. “You were doing so well until now.”

“You talking to yourself there?”

And that’s Elijah heard from. Vasquez is getting extremely tired of the Bradbury brothers and their apparent fondness for walking up behind him when they’ve got him too fucking hobbled to be able to see them.

At least the youngest brother seems to be the most amicable of the lot. Case in point, when Elijah comes over to where Vasquez can see him, he’s frowning down at the wound in obvious distaste. As Vasquez watches, he blows out a weary breath, crouching down to better examine his brother’s handiwork.

“Like what you see?” Vasquez grunts, less bothered by Elijah’s scrutiny than he was by Josiah’s.

“No,” Elijah says bluntly, his frown still firmly in place. “I meant it when I said there was no point in torturing you. You’re as good as dead anyway, so it’s just unnecessarily cruel.”

Vasquez snorts, the sound tapering off into something more akin to a whine when the motion jars his torso. Little does this runt know how far from death he really is. He has every confidence in the ability of Faraday and the rest of their fellows to catch up with him long before he’s dragged before a warrant officer’s station. The only way he’s not walking out of this debacle alive is if he sufficiently pisses off Josiah, and he’s learned that lesson well enough.

“You don’t believe me?” Elijah asks. “You killed a ranger. They’re going to hang you without so much as blinking an eye.”

“We’ll see,” Vasquez says noncommittally.

Now it’s Elijah who snorts. “You’re awfully cocky for a man who’s hogtied in the bush and surrounded by folks who don’t wish him well.”

“We’ll see,” Vasquez says again.”

“Fine,” Elijah snaps. “Believe what you want. I don’t care. Now sit up.”

“What?” Not expecting that order, Vasquez doesn’t move.

“I said, sit up,” Elijah snaps again, more angrily this time. Then he reaches around, grabbing Vasquez’s bound hands and using them as leverage to force him into a sitting position.

Vasquez grunts in pain, but when his head settles he finds himself sitting with his back against a nearby tree stump, his bound hands still secured behind him, while Elijah undoes the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric back until he can get a better look at the mess his brother has made.

“What the hell?” Vasquez demands, ignoring the pain in his side in favour of trying to lash out with his roped legs to prevent whatever it is Elijah is planning to do to him.

“Shut up or I’ll gag you,” Elijah says, dodging him with little trouble, “and stop kicking. I’m trying to help.”

Confused, Vasquez stops mid-lunge and stares up at him quizzically. “And why would you do that? You said it yourself, you’re just going to have me killed anyway.”

Elijah goes quiet, some of the fire fading from his eyes. “Because,” he says finally, only to refuse to elaborate further.

Vasquez considers protesting, but thinks twice about it. Left untreated the wound could very well become infected and there was no telling where that would lead. Besides, it wasn’t like he _wanted_ to sit around in more pain than necessary. “Fine,” he grunts. “Do what you want.”

Elijah nods and unslings a bag Vasquez hadn’t noticed from around his shoulders. Reaching inside he pulls out a small clay pot. He removes the lid with a deft pull of his fingers, revealing some kind of ointment inside.

“What is it?” Vasquez asks, intrigued in spite of himself.

“Aloe paste,” Elijah replies. “It’s good for helping burns.”

“Huh. Deal with them often do you?” Vasquez asks snidely.

It’s hard to tell from the light of the fire, but he thinks Elijah blushes at his words. However, when the younger man speaks his voice remains calm. “I could always leave you be.”

“No,” Vasquez disagrees. “You said you would help and I do not think you are the sort of man who would take back such an offer. Your brothers, maybe, but not you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Elijah tells him, but he begins spreading the paste over the injury, so Vasquez deems it a win on his part. The paste is oddly cool, and therefore not altogether unpleasant on his heated skin.

“Shift back,” Elijah orders as he tries to accommodate for the angle Vasquez is positioned in. “No, that won’t work. Here, let me.” He uses the hand not coated in the aloe paste to shuffle Vasquez into the position he wants, going so far as to shove the remains of his shirt down further so there’s no chance of the fabric getting stuck to the wound.

The movement causes the loose linen to slide a little down Vasquez’s shoulders, just far enough to bare the spot where his soulmark sits. Elijah notices and cranes his neck to get a better look at the words now on display.

“That’s awfully rude of you, amigo,” Vasquez drawls when he sees this. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you a person’s words are private?”

Elijah ignores him. “What happened to it?” He asks curiously. “It looks like part of it’s missing.”

“That’s because part of it _is_ missing,” Vasquez admits, amused by the runt’s sudden fascination and willing to humor him if it meant less time spent risking the return of Josiah’s sole company.

He cranes his own neck as best he can under the circumstances, but it’s not enough to bring the spot on his arm into view. “I got shot,” he says, after he’s fully ascertained that there’s no way he’s going to be able to look at the mark himself. “Took a bullet right there and it wiped out all but two of the words.”

Which, for the record, was a fact that Faraday hated. His own words, scrawled messily not far below the base of his throat, had managed to survive not one or two but three bullets to the chest and a loaded stick of dynamite, but the single, solitary bullet Vasquez had taken during the fight for Rose Creek had done away with all but the words _Oh good_. Faraday had groused about that for days when he’d first found out, and, for the life of him, Vasquez still hasn’t figured out why.

Speaking of Faraday, a tentative poke at their bond tells Vasquez he’s still extremely displeased by their current predicament. Anger’s rolling off him like a wave, and Vasquez clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Aye, carino,” he mutters, his voice pitched low, almost amused in spite of himself. “Why must you always be so high strung?”

“What was that?” Elijah asks.

“Oh, nothing.” Vasquez lies. “Just saying a little prayer to myself.”

Elijah snorts, making it clear with the motion that he doesn’t believe him. “You’ll have to forgive me for saying so, but you don’t much strike me as a god-fearing man.”

“And what makes you say that?” Vasquez asks, honestly intrigued.

“You’re a murderer,” Elijah replies. “It’s hard to do that if you’re worrying about your immortal soul.”

Vasquez bares his teeth at the runt, having grown tired by his persistent belief that he enjoyed killing men in cold blood. “I’m no murderer, niño. Just because I’ve sent men to their graves, doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do.”

“The law exists for a reason, Mr. Vasquez,” Elijah insists, even as he rubs more of the aloe paste over the pain his own brother had caused. “It’s not for you to be taking it into your own hands.”

“Why not? You are.”

At that, Elijah pulls back with a glare. “We’re each of us duly sworn warrant officers,” he protests, and Vasquez has to fight back an unintentional snicker at the sight of one of Sam’s favorite phrases coming out of the boy’s mouth. “That makes us the law.”

“Does it now?” Vasquez gestures at the mess Josiah has made of his side. “Lo siento, niño, but I wasn’t aware _this_ is how the law is meant to behave.”

“That’s different,” Elijah snaps. “You shouldn’t have tried to get away.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to get away?” Vasquez parrots back. “What kind of man goes willingly to the noose? You think I don’t have things I want to live for?”

Elijah smiles at him mirthlessly, “Let me guess, you’ve got a soulmate who’s already said your words to you, and you want to get back to them?”

“No,” Vasquez lies, quick as can be. There’s no way he’s going to be foolish enough to let slip to this imbecile that he has the world’s most volatile soulmate heading his way. “I can’t say I’ve been lucky enough to have that experience yet, though, eh, maybe I might like the chance to do so.”

“Well, it’s a pity for you that’s not going to happen then, isn’t it?” Elijah asks, voice hard as he puts the cover back on the clay pot containing the aloe paste. He brushes some stray foliage off his knees and then stands. “You’re as good as you’re going to get now. If you’re lucky I might feel inclined to wrap the wound up after the paste has had time to set, but we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Oh, we’ll see plenty of things,” Vasquez sneers at his retreating back. “Just you wait.”

*****

In a stroke of luck, they don’t try and move him the next day. Zeke has apparently deemed adding an extra day onto their journey to be worthwhile when faced with the prospect of having Vasquez yelping every time he gets so much as lightly jostled. As such, he spends the day lying curled on his side and trying to focus on the way he knows Faraday and the others are getting ever closer.

At one point, sometime around mid-afternoon, Josiah looms over him and gives him an amused smirk. “Having fun yet, amigo?”

Vasquez looks up at the other man and shrugs as best he can, trying to ignore the way any bit of movement makes his side throb. “All kinds,” he replies. “Best day out I’ve had in ages.”

Josiah snorts as he begins to move away. “Laugh it up, friend. You don’t have a clue what you’re in for if you give me anymore trouble.”

 _Neither do you_ , Vasquez thinks at his retreating back. The others are close now, nearby enough that they’re probably within sight of the Bradbury’s and are just waiting for the right moment to strike. Vasquez imagines they’ll wait until nightfall, at which point all hell is bound to break lose.

He almost feels sorry for the brothers.

*****

The Bradbury’s have set up camp in a dip in the land that, while relatively closed in, leaves them open in a way that Faraday would never be comfortable risking if he thought there might be folks pursuing him with aim to do him harm. Then again, there’s nothing to suggest the Bradbury’s suspect they’re being followed, and it’s not like Vasquez would have tipped them off, so maybe they think they’re safe.

Faraday can’t actually see into the camp from his current vantage point, Sam had kept everyone but Red and Horne back far enough that they wouldn’t accidentally be spotted, but he doesn’t need to see anything to know how close they are. Vasquez is near enough to tell him that.

It’s approaching dusk when Red and Horne come slipping back out of the brush to where the rest of them have sequestered themselves back out of the way.

“Well?” He hisses, doing his best to keep his voice low and prevent it from carrying, but only so able to keep his agitation from showing. “Did you see him?”

“Yes,” Horne says, and Red adds his agreement with a silent nod of his head. “They’ve got him tied up on the far edge of the camp.”

“How’d he seem?”

Horne takes a moment to answer, before saying with a shrug. “Alright.”

“Still breathing,” Red adds. Faraday hopes that’s not his idea of helpful commentary. If it is he’s going to suggest the man go back to pretending he doesn’t speak any English.

Horne unhooks his hunting knife from his belt, and squats down so that he can begin using it to sketch patterns in the dirt. “Let’s say this is the camp. They’ve got a fire going here, their gear and mounts are all over here, and Vasquez is here. We should be able to sneak around easy enough to flank them, but we’re going to have a problem with how close they may or may not be to Vasquez.”

“Why?” Sam asks, peering down at the map Horne’s just outlined for them.

“Because they’ve got him lashed up to hell and back again – not just his arms, but his legs too. He’s not going to be able to run until someone cuts him free, and that might take a couple more seconds than we have if someone’s right on top of him.”

“So we take ‘em all out beforehand.” Faraday snarls. That’s not an end result he has the slightest problem with.

“Too risky,” Goodnight says, shaking his head. “If we miss one, Vasquez is a dead man. You can’t just go running in guns blazing when you’re dealing with a hostage situation. Not unless you want to get said hostage well and truly killed.”

Faraday growls low in his throat. “The only people who are gettin’ well and truly killed tonight are gonna be those sorry bastards, you hear me?”

“Nobody’s disagreeing with you, Faraday,” Sam says, “but Goody’s right. If we don’t do this right it could go awfully poorly for Vasquez, and none of us wants that.”

He holds Faraday’s gaze until Faraday gives him a reluctant nod of agreement. “Alright then. Now, what I’m going to suggest is that we wait until true darkness hits and surprise them. They’re not going to expect the six of us to come pouring out of the woodwork, and if we catch them off guard quick enough everything should be over before we can all so much as blink.”

“That’s still going to leave Vasquez exposed in the middle of a firefight,” Goodnight points out. “And we’ve all just agreed that is a very poor option.”

“Which is why Billy’s going in first. We’ll let him get into a position where he can cover Vasquez if anyone makes a move for him, and that should be enough to keep him from becoming some kind of collateral damage in this whole mess.”

Faraday makes an unimpressed noise and jabs an accusatory finger in Billy’s direction. “How come _he_ gets that job?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Because unlike you, Billy has more grace than a bull in a china shop. Or did you want to risk tipping our hand too early?”

Faraday lets his angry silence speak for him, and Sam nods his head in acceptance.

“That’s what I thought. Good. Now,” he adds slowly. “There’s one more thing, and I know some of us aren’t going to like it.” Here he gives Faraday a pointed look. “If you can, you’ve got to leave these boys alive once we’ve hit ‘em. Only take ‘em out permanently if you haven’t got a choice.”

“ _What_?” Faraday explodes. He can’t possibly have heard that right. “Sam Chisolm, if you think for even a moment I am leavin’ so much as one of these bastards still breathing once tonight is over, you are out of your goddamned mind.”

“Faraday,” Sam grits out, annoyance heavily evident in his voice. “They’re honest to god warrant officers, every one of ‘em. If we kill them, we are just asking for a million different kinds of trouble with the law.”

“Not if it’s Faraday who does the deed, we’re not.” Horne says, speaking up for the first time since he’d finished drawing his map.

“Say what?” Faraday asks, turning to look at him.

Horne doesn’t look back at him. There’s a faraway look in his eyes, like he’s no longer seeing the present, and is instead seeing the past. A few seconds pass in complete silence, and then the old man shakes himself, snapping back to the here and now. “There are certain … unwritten rules when it comes to bonded pairs killing for each other,” he says finally. “If Faraday wants to play judge, jury and executioner tonight, he can probably get away with it.”

Sam shakes his head. “That’s a mighty big if, Jack.”

“No, it isn’t.” Goodnight says, and beside him Billy nods. “Truth be told, me and Billy here may have used that very fact to our advantage once or twice.”

Feeling vindicated, Faraday points a triumphant finger at the pair of them. “You hear that? These sons of bitches are mine, Sam.”

“Faraday …” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, as if doing so might somehow help him. “Fine. I can’t stop you, but don’t come crying to me when it blows up in your face.”

“Ain’t nothin’ gonna blow up in my face, Sam. We didn’t bring any dynamite this time.”

“Goddamnit, Faraday.”

*****

The sun has barely set when Elijah materializes in front of him with a bowl of stew in his hands. He’s apparently drawn the short straw, given that he’s been the one seeing to all of Vasquez’s needs since the incident from the night before. For his part, though, Vasquez isn’t overly interested in dealing with Elijah at the moment.

Whatever his people are planning, they’re going to execute it soon. Vasquez has been able to feel Faraday’s steadily growing anticipation all afternoon and well into the evening. That anticipation seems to be only increasing now, indicating that the inevitable fireworks are just about to start.

“Not hungry,” he grunts, when Elijah settles down across from him. “You may as well eat it yourself.”

He purposefully doesn’t add that it might be Elijah’s last meal at that. He’s not sure how he feels about this boy getting killed on his behalf, or even Zeke for that matter. They, at least, are decent enough men who are just doing a job, even if they are disturbingly willing to turn a blind eye where their brother’s actions were concerned, and Vasquez has never been fond of unnecessary killing, no matter what Elijah chooses to believe about him.

Elijah frowns at him. “I didn’t go to the trouble of getting it for you, only to have you not bother eating it.”

Vasquez rolls his eyes. A decent enough man, perhaps, but also a self-important one. “I said I’m not hungry,” he repeats, stressing the words. “Take it back if you don’t want it.”

“If you won’t eat it willingly, there’s a solid chance Josiah will come over here and force feed it to you.” Elijah says. Vasquez suspects he thinks he’s being reasonable. “Do you want that to happen?”

There’s a sudden spike of excitement from Faraday, and Vasquez pulls his lips back off his teeth in a snarl at the feeling. It looks like the show is about to start.

“Elijah,” he says, voice going low and dangerous as Faraday’s emotions continue to ramp up. “I would love for you to bring your brother over here and have him try exactly that. We’ll see how well it goes for him.”

His eyebrows climbing up his forehead, Elijah leans back, as if he wants to get away from the force behind Vasquez’s words. “What’re you – what’s wrong with you?”

Vasquez gives him one of the wild grins that Faraday has said more than once put him in mind of a coyote, and considers laughing in the runt’s face. “You and your brothers never should have taken me, niño, and now you’re going to find out why.”

That’s enough to make Elijah pull back completely. He climbs to his feet with a look of worry twisting his features. “Zeke! Josiah!” He barks to get their attention. “Something ain’t right here.”

“What?” Zeke looks up from where he’s stoking the fire. “Elijah, what are you going on about?”

“What he said,” Josiah growls, climbing to his feet and stomping towards his younger brother. “The fuck are you goin’ on about, Eli?”

The bowl of stew still cradled in the crook of one elbow, Elijah points at Vasquez with his free hand. “There’s something off with him. I don’t know what, but I think something’s going on.”

Zeke doesn’t move from his spot by the fire, but Josiah moves past Elijah and keeps coming towards Vasquez. As he gets closer, he reaches back and pulls his big hunting knife from its sheath, grinning when he sees Vasquez’s gaze focus on it. “Up to something, are ya?” He drawls. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that, amigo.”

Faraday’s not going to appreciate it if Vasquez antagonizes this man into attacking him, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Grinning up at Josiah, he says, “You’re a dead man, _amigo_. It’s not my fault your body doesn’t know it yet.”

Anger washes over Josiah’s face, and his grip on the knife in his hand shifts menacingly. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that. There are so many ways I can hurt you and still leave you alive enough to go before the noose.”

Vasquez bares his teeth at him. “Try it!”

“Josiah, wait –“ Elijah starts to say, but it’s too late. His brother has already lunged forward towards Vasquez, his eyes blazing and his mouth twisted into a snarl.

There’s nowhere for him to dodge - and no way for him to do so anyway, hobbled as he is – but Vasquez still does his best to roll onto his back and twist out of the man’s way as he comes. He doesn’t manage to move much, only enough that he can see the exact moment when a familiar shard of metal comes streaking out of the darkness and lodges itself in the centre of Josiah’s throat.

Josiah drops the knife in his hand, the metal making a soft clanging sound as it bounces off a couple of rocks by his feet, and his hands come up to cradle his throat. His knees give out then and he hits the ground beside his knife, his fingers now stained with the blood flowing from the wound.

Elijah makes a wordless sound of protest, and Vasquez turns to him.

“I wouldn’t, niño,” he barks as the man starts to run forward. “Not unless you want to end up like him.”

The words make Elijah freeze in place, but they do nothing to stop Zeke, who’s climbing to his feet in a rush, his hand going for his gun. A rifle cracks in the distance, and Zeke swears as the gun is sent spinning from his hand.

Vasquez grins. That’s Billy and most likely Goodnight accounted for, and he doesn’t imagine the others are far behind.

As if they can sense his thoughts, Sam and Red come darting out of the brush, weapons raised and trained on the two surviving Bradbury brothers. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Vasquez sees Billy materialize out of the darkness, far closer to him than he’d realized and with Horne on his heels.

“Nice work,” he says, as Billy makes his way over to him. “I’m always impressed by what you can do with a knife.”

“Yeah, that’s nice and all, but I wouldn’t have had to do anything if you hadn’t gone and gotten him riled up,” Billy grouses when he reaches the spot where Vasquez has been lying for the better part of a day now. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I knew someone had to be close by, and I was thinking that I wanted him dead.” Vasquez says calmly.

“How fortunate that you were right on that first count. Stretch out your legs for me, would you?” He pulls out another knife, his intention to cut the ropes binding Vasquez plain.

Vasquez does as requested as best as he’s able, grimacing when the movement causes a shot of pain to go lancing all along his side.

Billy doesn’t miss that. “Faraday said you were hurt,” he says while he begins cutting through the rope. “What happened?”

Vasquez groans. “Let’s just say there’s a reason I wanted that one in particular dead,” he says, jerking his head in Josiah’s direction.

“Is that so?” At Vasquez’s nod, Billy shrugs and continues on with what he was doing. “How do you feel about the other two? I only ask because someone has every intention of taking them out, regardless of whether or not they’ve surrendered.”

Vasquez doesn’t need the emphasis he puts on the word ‘someone’ to know exactly who he’s talking about. It’s all too clear who he means when Faraday finally stalks into the clearing with both his guns drawn and a mass of barely contained rage shimmering along their bond.

“Ah,” he says, watching as Faraday steps towards where the others have herded Zeke and Elijah together. “This could be a problem.”

Billy snorts. “Not as far as he’s concerned, it isn’t. So, you’d better decide now if you want him killing in cold blood.”

“Ah,” Vasquez says again. He turns and looks back over at Faraday, frowning thoughtfully.

*****

Horne and Billy have Vasquez. Out of the corner of his eye, Faraday sees Billy using one of his plethora of knives to slice through the ropes binding the man from ankle to wrist, while Horne is using his impressive bulk to keep Vasquez from toppling over into the dirt.

Sufficiently convinced that his vaquero is in good hands for the time being, Faraday points a gun apiece at the two remaining bounty hunters, his lips drawing back of his teeth in a poor parody of a smile. “So,” he purrs dangerously, a spark of delight shooting through him when the younger one flinches at the sound, “do either of you have any preference as to who I kill first?”

The older one, Ezekiel, he thinks Emma had called him back at Rose Creek, swallows noticeably, his tongue darting out nervously to lick at dry lips. For all that this man made his living brining wanted men in for what he considered to be justice, he didn’t seem to care much for the idea of facing it himself. Pity for him then that he’d decided to go after the wrong man.

“Well, gentlemen?” Faraday asks, pointedly thumbing the triggers of both guns. “What say you?”

“You can’t kill us,” Ezekiel rasps, flinching when Faraday lets out a disbelieving bark of laughter, but continuing to soldier on regardless. “You kill us and you’ll wind up with an even bigger bounty on your head than your friend there. Do you really think he’s worth that?”

Faraday considers how to respond for a moment, glancing back at his crew as he ponders his options.

Horne and Billy are still fussing over Vasquez, trying to get him settled at the edge of the camp to see about examining his injury, while the remainder of the group are focused on Faraday. Sam, he notes, no longer has any weapons drawn, choosing instead to watch the unfolding exchange with an impassive look on his face, whereas Red has an arrow firmly notched on his bow and Goodnight’s rifle is aimed sure and steady at their enemies.

Looking at them, Faraday makes a decision.

“Robicheaux,” he says, using Goodnight’s last name on purpose. “Do me a favour and come here for a second, would you? I’m goin’ to enlighten our new friends about somethin’.”

Goodnight quirks a curious eyebrow at him, but steps forward as requested. “What’re you up to, Faraday?” He murmurs as he comes to a rest near Faraday’s elbow.

Faraday grins at him all sharp and nasty-like. “Keep the little one in your sights, would you? I’m gonna show these bastards somethin’, and I need a free hand to do it.”

As Goodnight brings his rifle back into position, Faraday slips Ethel back in her holster, while still keeping Maria trained on Ezekiel Bradbury. Then, once his right hand is free, he reaches up and begins undoing the top buttons of his vest and the shirt underneath it.

The little one frowns. “What are you -?” He starts to say, but Faraday cuts him off with a shake of his finger.

“Ah ah ah,” he says chidingly, enjoying the way this makes the kid’s face flush. “You ain’t exactly in a position to be askin’ questions, my friend.”

Shirt now sufficiently open for his purposes, Faraday pushes the fabric back with his free hand, the end result being that his words are fully on display. “Now,” Faraday says jovially, “I recognize that the lighting hereabouts is not as stellar as it could be, so, if you can’t tell, allow me to enlighten you as to what exactly it is you’re lookin’ at.”

He rubs his thumb firmly over the mark, purposefully drawing more attention to it. “Y’see, this here happens to be some of the most profane Spanish known to man, and your former prisoner just so happens to be the one who put it there.” Faraday had finally had Vasquez translate it for him late one night when they were laying tangled together in their bed at the boarding house. Vasquez had been apologetic about the matter, but Faraday had thrown his head back and laughed and laughed until Vasquez had cut him off with a kiss that launched them into round three of an already thoroughly enjoyable evening.

Faraday taps the mark one more time, grinning at the sickly looks spreading across both men’s faces. “That’s right, boys,” he says meanly. “Right now I’m the only person in the world who can shoot you both stone dead and not suffer any consequences.” Quick as a flash he drops his hand away from his words and pulls Ethel back out, pointing her once again squarely at the younger one’s chest. “Any last words then?”

He can see it when realization dawns on the two of them. Obviously, they were aware of the “unwritten rules” Horne had been going on about earlier. Killing not one but two bounty hunters would normally be enough to land him with a warrant on his head more than twice the size of the one Vasquez carries, but now the situation was different since it involved a soulbond. Wanted by the law or not, killing to protect Vasquez gave Faraday protection that simply didn’t exist in other circumstances.

Smiling unpleasantly, Faraday cocks Ethel in his hand. “I think I’ll go with little brother first.”

“Guero, no,” rasps a tired voice behind him, and Faraday feels a sudden shiver through the soulbond that is very clearly telling him to settle down.

Frowning, he turns around to glare at Vasquez. “No?” He repeats skeptically. “What the hell do you mean, no?”

Vasquez gives a slight shake of his head, frowning at Faraday from over where Billy’s bent down and inspecting his torso. “I mean no,” he says, voice surprisingly firm given how exhausted he looks. “No more killing.”

“What?” Faraday sputters. “They were going to kill you!” He barks. “They did torture you!”

Vasquez gives a minute shrug of one shoulder. “Nevertheless. No more killing.” As Faraday continues to stare at him, Vasquez sinks back down and waves a hand to indicate that Billy can return to his ministrations. Then he pauses, frowning thoughtfully and gesturing at his side. “Except the one who did this. Him you can shoot.”

“Well, which one’s that?” Faraday demands, swearing explosively when Vasquez nods at the body of the already dead brother, Billy’s hairpin still firmly lodged in the centre of the man’s throat.

“That ain’t fair,” he grouses, even as he’s holstering his weapons as requested. “When you get your fool ass kidnapped, I’m supposed to be able to rain down all manner of violence upon those that did it. Otherwise, what even is the point?” No one sees fit to answer, which Faraday takes as a sign that they’re all in agreement with him as to the injustice of the matter.

Lost in his own frustrations, Faraday doesn’t notice right away when Sam sidles up to him, his eyes firmly fixed on their two captives. “It’s the right move,” he murmurs quietly. “Letting these two go means they’ll be alive to tell others that Vasquez is travelling with a pack these days. It’ll serve as a warning and make folks go after easier targets.”

“Don’t use logic at me, Sam,” Faraday growls. “I heard all your reasoning earlier, and I ain’t in the mood.” As far as he’s concerned, a trio of dead bounty hunters would send just as good a message as leaving two of them alive.

Sam gives him one of his patented long looks, the kind that seem specifically designed to make Faraday feel like he’s six years old again and being chastised by his Ma. “Go fuss over your boy, Faraday.” Sam says finally. “The rest of us will see to these two.” Then he’s striding towards the still breathing Bradbury brothers, his hands raised to show he comes in peace, while Faraday watches it all unfold, anger still riding low in his belly at the thought of the two bastards getting away after what they’d done.

“Take it easy, Faraday,” Goodnight says from where he’s still standing nearby. He’s got his rifle resting on his hip now, still alert to possible trouble, but not as primed to pull the trigger as he had been. Faraday shoots him a dirty look, and he just shrugs. “Revenge is not always the best path to set oneself upon. There are other, better ways to finish a night like tonight." He throws a pointed look towards Vasquez, and then he too is stepping over to the Bradburys, Red and Horne following in his wake.

Faraday watches them go and then sighs. As much as he’d like to throttle the life out of each still living brother, Sam and Goodnight have a point. He’s got much more important things to be doing with his time.

*****

“Hold still,” Billy says firmly. “The more you squirm, the harder it’ll be for me to look at it.”

Vasquez makes a face at him. “Easy for you to say, amigo. You are not the one who got hurt.”

“Regardless.” Billy gives him one of his patented steely-eyed glares and motions for him to shuffle backwards. “If you move back a bit, you can lean up against that tree. It might make things a bit easier for you while I do this. And lift your shirt up while you’re at it. It’ll help me get at the wound better.”

“Shirt’s ruined anyway,” Vasquez grumbles, pulling at the stained, filthy fabric as he tries to follow Billy’s orders. Hissing as the movement pulls at the charred skin of his stomach, Vasquez laboriously unfurls himself from the hunched position he’s been maintaining ever since his bonds were cut and moves to do as he’s told.

“Here, let me.” Seemingly coming out of nowhere, Faraday crosses into his line of sight and keeps moving until he’s behind Vasquez. Dropping down onto the ground with his back up against the tree Billy’d been motioning Vasquez towards, he opens his arms expectantly, his meaning plain.

When all Vasquez can do is gawk at him, he makes an annoyed face. “C’mon,” he says, voice tight. “You’ll be more comfortable using me as a pillow than you will be with some damn old redwood.”

Vasquez doesn’t think the tree in question is a redwood, and that thought causes a jolt of hysteria to go rolling through him. Here Faraday is making what for him is a grand gesture of love and affection, and all Vasquez can do is postulate on the correct origins of the local foliage.

“Vas,” Faraday says, frustrated. His tone jerks Vasquez out of his reverie. “Would you just come here? Please,” he adds, and that’s what finally sets Vasquez into moving. Ignoring the sudden pain in his side as the motion pulls tightly at his wound, Vasquez shifts into Faraday’s proffered embrace, settling himself as easily as he can between Faraday’s spread legs, his back to Faraday’s chest, and Faraday’s hands coming up to gently run along the length of Vasquez’s arms.

It feels good – hands down the most comfortable he’s been since those three bastards had drugged him and tossed him over the back of a horse like a piece of meat. The burning in his side is still there, but it’s dulled to a hazy afterthought with little effect as Faraday shifts one hand and gently rests it just above where the wound is located, his pinky finger resting scant millimetres away from the singed flesh. Fingers stroke absently along Vasquez’s uninjured side and the hazy feeling intensifies as Faraday sends soothing streams of comfort along their bond.

“Better?” Faraday asks, his warm breath ghosting over the shell of Vasquez’s ear, he’s so close.

“Mm, yes, I'm impressed you managed to figure that trick out," Vasquez sighs, exhaustion beginning to set in now that the sharp stinging in his side has faded, taking the adrenaline that’s been fueling him since his people had come bursting out of the night with it. “You should bottle than and sell it, geuro. Would make a fortune.”

He feels more than hears Faraday huff a laugh behind him. “You sound like you’ve been smoking one of Billy’s special cigarettes, Vas.”

“Mmm,” Vasquez hums again. Faraday’s statement reminds him that Billy had been around here somewhere. Cracking one eye open, only belatedly realizing he’s closed them to begin with, he sees the man in question is still in front of him, now sitting back on his heels with a funny look on his face.

Vasquez stretches out one arm and points a finger lazily at him. “You,” he says with an air of authority that only the truly stoned can achieve, “are supposed to be fixing something. Me, I think.”

The look on Billy’s face shifts to one of amusement, and he once again picks up the bandages he’d been waving in Vasquez’s face before Faraday had waltzed over and worked his little magic trick. “That’s right,” he agrees. “I see someone’s already treated it, but, given how they had very little reason to care if you died, I want to check it for myself.”

Vasquez flaps his still extended hand airily, only stopping when Faraday reaches out and grabs the appendage in question, pulling it back towards them. “Rocks ain’t gonna be able to patch you up if you don’t quit wrigglin’ around, Vas. Hold still.”

“I am holding still,” Vasquez insists, all evidence to the contrary aside.

“No,” Faraday replies, “you’re squirmin’ like a worm on a hook. Now cut it out.”

Vasquez stops moving. “Not a worm,” he says sullenly, displeased that Faraday would insult him while he’s laying here injured.

“True,” Faraday agrees, sending more comforting feelings along the bond. “Although you are a menace. Y’wont even let me shoot the bastards who did this to you.”

Mollified in spite of himself, Vasquez elects to ignore this last complaint and do as he’s told, holding still as Billy reaches out and prods at his injury.

“Ouch!” Vasquez lashes out with one foot when the touch brings the previously dormant pain back with it.

Bill evades him easily, no doubt helped at least in part by the fact that Vasquez’s coordination has taken a serious hit since Faraday had weaselled his way over here, and behind them Faraday lets out an exasperated huff.

“Vas,” he says warningly. “Hold. Still.”

“He is poking me,” Vasquez protests. “Where is Adelaide? She should be the one doing this.”

“Oh, for -!” Vasquez doesn’t need a soulbond to tell him Faraday’s beginning to lose his patience. “Adelaide is back in Rose Creek, you fuckin’ menace, but Billy’s here and he’s willin’ to take a look at you so we’re gonna have to make do.”

Vasquez frowns at the rush of frustration radiating off the other man.

“Settle, Faraday.” And that’s Billy speaking now, his eyes dark as he meets Faraday’s gaze over Vasquez’s prone form. “You took away his pain when you came over here, and now he’s loopy with the absence of it.”

 _Loopy_? Vasquez mouths, relatively certain he can hear Goodnight in the word. He wants to ask if that’s where Billy had gotten it, but Faraday’s speaking again before he can get a chance.

“So what’re we supposed to do? We can’t fix him up if he won’t behave. Though I suppose we could always knock him out. Kidding!” He adds when Vasquez turns around to glare at him. “I’m kiddin’, Vas.”

Vasquez eyes him for a few seconds longer, until he decides he’s satisfied with he sees and shifts back around with a curt nod.

Faraday sighs and runs one hand apologetically against Vasquez’s uninjured side. “You got any suggestions, Billy?”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “He’ll calm down if you will. Be soothing.”

Vasquez cackles at that, shaking his head with mirth. “Guero does not do soothing,” he explains when Billy raises an eyebrow at him. “There is too much Irish temper in him.”

“You ever stop and think maybe it’s just you who brings that out in me?” Faraday rumbles from behind him.

“No.”

Faraday snorts and then adds sullenly, “Yeah, well, maybe this time you deserve it, what with scarin’ the sweet Jesus out of me these past couple days and all.”

Confused, Vasquez cranes his neck back around to look at him, feeling alarmed when he sees the pinched expression on Faraday’s face. “You were scared?” He asks softly.

“Yeah,” Faraday confirms. “This little adventure likely took a few years off my life, Sweetheart.”

Vasquez doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what to do with this strange version of Faraday who openly shows both affection and concern at the same time. His Faraday is a stubborn bastard who loathes the very idea of the outside world seeing him admit to caring about something, about someone.

“Right now I think it is you who is scaring me.” Vasquez murmurs, low enough that even Billy, still sitting close by but pointedly turned away in an effort to pretend like they have privacy, can’t hear.

Faraday’s face falls, and Vasquez feels a sudden spike of regret churning low in his gut, not realizing at first that the feeling is Faraday’s and not his own.

“Geuro,” he says softly, aiming to break some of the tension through the use of the term that’s become an endearment between the two of them.

“Leave it,” Faraday says firmly, shaking his head as if to try and ward off whatever unwanted feelings Vasquez has accidentally evoked in him. “Just – just come here, alright?”

Even in his hazy state Vasquez is relatively certain he can’t come and closer. Still, he doesn’t protest when Faraday curls an arm oh so gently back around him, almost but not quite clutching him to his chest. Concerned, Vasquez brings his own hand up and lightly runs his fingertips along the arm that’s holding him, his sense of alarm rising when he realizes it’s shaking.

“Joshua,” he breathes, forgetting their unspoken rule about only bringing out that name when they’re in the privacy of their own room.

Faraday takes a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.” Then he cups his free hand along the underside of Vasquez’s jaw, using the grip to tilt his face to the side and provide him with an angle where he can press a kiss gently against Vasquez’s temple.

It’s a simple kiss, feather light and chaste in its manner, but it makes Vasquez feel like all the breath has been sucked out of his lungs with little to no hope of ever getting it back again. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say, and in his confused state he can’t even try to use the bond to help because he’s too lost in the whirlwind of his own emotions.

For his part, Faraday doesn’t seem to notice the way he’s turning all their unspoken rules upside down. Still nuzzling at Vasquez’s temple, he drops a series of little kisses as he goes  along his cheek, on the shell of his ear, even once on the only eyebrow he can reach given his current position.

“Joshua,” Vasquez says, more insistent this time.”

“Shh,” Faraday murmurs. “It’s alright. I’m alright. Just let me do this while I still have the nerve, okay?” And with that he uses the grip he still has on Vasquez’s jaw to tilt his head even further and swoops in to capture his mouth in a bruising kiss.

The angle is frankly terrible, not to mention that Vasquez is surprised enough he catches Faraday’s bottom lip between his teeth without meaning too. That doesn’t stop Faraday, however, and he keeps going until a shift in their movements causes Vasquez to let out a ragged yelp when his wound gets pulled.

“Sorry, sorry,” Faraday says, his eyes never once leaving Vasquez’s face as he pulls back. “Sorry,” he says again. “But will you please do me a favour and let yourself settle down for a little doctorin’?”

It takes a moment for Vasquez’s brain to catch up to the current proceedings, allowing him to fully parse out what Faraday is referring to. When he does, he feels his face heat uncharacteristically as he glances over at Billy, who’s shifted away from them, but is still within view. Thankfully, sweeping his gaze over the rest of the campsite reveals that everyone else has disappeared for the time being, no doubt in order to deal with the Bradburys.

Shaking his head he lets out a heavy breath. "Fine," he says. "If that will make you feel better."

*****

In the end, there’s not much any of them can do for the wound on Vasquez’s side. It looks as clean as it’s going to get, and Billy had more smeared aloe paste over it when Vasquez had informed him one of the bounty hunters had some in his belongings, which is essentially the extent of what can be done for it.

Faraday wants to head back to Rose Creek immediately, as far as he’s concerned Vasquez should be recuperating in a bed and within easy reach of an actual person with a medical license, but even he’s willing to concede that travelling at night on horseback when they don’t have too is an unnecessary risk. Not to mention, Vasquez has made it clear he wants to rest before he goes anywhere.

“We don’t have any of your gear with us,” Faraday says when Vasquez mentions this, “but I’ll dig out mine and you can use that.”

Vasquez, who’s now propped up against the tree from earlier, cracks his eyes open from where they’ve drifted shut and stares blearily up at Faraday. “Hmm? Qué?”

“Bedding,” Faraday clarifies. “You need some.”

“Ah,” Vasquez says, though Faraday has a sneaking suspicion he’s still not really following the conversation. He’s been weirdly spacey ever since Faraday had used what he’s starting to think of as the pain drain trick on him, like he’s not tracking properly.

Faraday shakes his head, as much as he doesn’t want Vasquez to be in pain, he’s hoping that this part at least wears off soon. He’d been about to wander off in search of his saddlebags, but he drops down into a crouch next to Vasquez instead, peering at him worriedly.

“I’m just tired, Joshua,” Vasquez huffs before Faraday has a chance to say anything. “Stop fussing.”

“I ain’t fussin’,” Faraday protests.

Vasquez raises a skeptical eyebrow in response. “Didn’t I hear you say something about blankets, guero?”

“You did,” Faraday acknowledges. “You want me to go grab ‘em?”

“Si,” Vasquez says, yawning. “Por favor.”

“Okay,” Faraday stands again. “You just … stay here.”

Vasquez makes a sound that might have been a laugh. “Not going anywhere, guero. Too tired.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Faraday steps away from where Vasquez is holding court and heads towards the spot where all their horses have been tied and their gear stored. Unexpectedly, he finds the rest of the seven there, apparently deep in conversation.

“How is he?” Sam asks when he sees Faraday approaching. He nods his head at Vasquez for further emphasis, as if any of them needed that right now.

“He wants to sleep,” Faraday replies. “I’m grabbin’ a bedroll for him. What’re you lot doin’?”

“Trying to figure out what to do with them,” Sam says. He jerks his head to the side and Faraday sees their two prisoners are sitting trussed up like a pair of Christmas turkeys at the edge of the campsite.

Faraday scowls. “I’m still in favor of shootin’ ‘em.”

“We know, Faraday,” Goodnight says. “We all saw your little display earlier. It was very impressive to be sure.”

Faraday considers being offended by this, but then decides he doesn’t care. He’s allowed to be angry when the man he’s soulbonded with gets threatened. That’s got to a rule somewhere.

“So what’s the plan then? Seein’ as my way’s off the table and all?”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes still on the pair of bounty hunters. “I figure our best bet is to keep them tied overnight and then send them on their way in the opposite direction come the morning. We’ll keep the dead one’s horse and gear for Vasquez and that’s that.”

“No,” Billy shakes his head. “We’re running the risk of them following us if we let them go at the same time.”

“It’s seven us to two of them.” Sam’s speaking with the air of a man who’s already had the same conversation a time or two. “Even if we don’t count Vasquez, who can still shoot so I don’t see any reason not to, those aren’t odds any sane man is going to risk.”

Goodnight snorts. “Sam, you took on over two hundred hired guns with only six shooters and a bunch of farmers at your back. You of all people know what a man will risk to go after those who’ve wronged him, and we put their brother in the ground tonight.”

“We’re not killing them, Goody.” Sam says tightly.

“I don’t recall ever saying we should,” Goodnight shoots back.

“Their horses,” Red says then. Startling everybody by speaking up. When they all turn to look at him, he shrugs. “We take their horses.”

“Oh, I like that,” Goodnight says with a laugh. “It’s elegant in its simplicity. They can follow us all they want on foot, but without their horses they’ll never catch us. Plus,” he adds thoughtfully, “if we take their weapons as well, they really won’t be a threat to us.”

“Great,” Faraday says as heads begin nodding around the circles. “Now that we’ve got that settled, how about you lot move outta my way so I can get what I came over here for? Otherwise I’m pretty sure Vas is gonna fall asleep usin’ a damn tree as a pillow.”

“Right, sorry, Faraday,” Sam says, moving to the side to let him pass. “Go get what you’re after.”

“Much obliged,” Faraday quips, stepping around the others and over to where his bags are sitting. He roots around until he comes up with what he’s looking for and then turns to head back to where he’d come from.

Unsurprisingly, Vasquez is dozing up against the tree when Faraday returns with a bedroll slung casually over his shoulder. He comes awake when Faraday nudges him gently in the arm, blinking tiredly in the firelight.

“You bring me blankets?” He slurs, obviously still half asleep.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Faraday informs him. “C’mon. Let’s get you bedded down near that fire, shall we?”

Vasquez makes an unimpressed noise. “That means moving,” he whines.

“It also means not bein’ cold.” Faraday points out. “Which do you think is better?”

Vasquez, a noted lover of heat, mutters something rude sounding.

“What was that?” Faraday asks.

Vasquez grunts. “Nothing you need to worry about, guero. Now help me up.”

Pleased by his victory, Faraday does as requested.

*****

It’s pitch black out when Vasquez comes awake again, this time thanks to a pressing need coming from his bladder. Faraday’s a long line of heat pressed up against his back, and the campfire in front of them is still crackling merrily, which means he can’t have been asleep for very long.

Vasquez tries to move slowly, less because of his current limitations and more because he doesn’t want to wake Faraday, but it’s to no avail. The man stirs behind him as he squirms free of the blanket they’ve been sharing.

“Where d’y think y’r goin’?” He grumbles, his voice thick was sleep.

“Only as far as the nearest private bush, guero,” Vasquez assures him. “Go back to sleep.”

Faraday grunts, his jaw cracking around an enormous yawn. “Fine, but if y’not back in five minutes m’comin’ after you.”

“Promises, promises,” Vasquez replies, though he thinks Faraday’s already asleep again.

His head is clearer now, his ability to focus much more evident than it had been merely a couple of hours ago. He makes his way laboriously across the camp, his body more stiff than he cares to admit, until he finds a spot to relieve himself. Once that mission is accomplished he turns to head back to his spot next to Faraday, only to unexpectedly find himself caught by Elijah Bradbury’s gaze.

While his oldest brother appears to be sound asleep, despite the way he’s now as thoroughly trussed up as Vasquez had been when he was their prisoner, Elijah looks wide awake. He meets Vasquez’s eye steadily, and then says quietly, “You lied to me.”

“Hmm?” Vasquez asks. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “About what?”

“About him,” Elijah says, jerking his head as best he can towards the campfire and the man sleeping near it. “About your – Faraday.”

“Ah, si. Yes, of course.” Vasquez looks at him, considering. “Are you actually surprised? If you’d known about him, you’d have known to look out for him.”

“And Josiah might still be alive.”

Vasquez snorts harshly, the sound echoing throughout the tiny camp. He idly wonders how many of his friends it will have woken. At least Billy he’d imagine, probably Red as well, and maybe Horne as the man tended to be something of an awkward sleeper. Turning his attention back to Elijah, he says, “If you’re looking for sympathy for your loss, niño, you have come to the wrong person.”

Even in the poor lighting, he can tell that Elijah’s glaring at him. “He may not have been a perfect man, or even a very good one, but he was still my brother.”

“So you grieve for him, just don’t expect me too.”

Elijah spits on the ground in front of him. “Someone’s going to catch up to you someday. Maybe it won’t be me, but it’ll happen sure enough.”

Vasquez glances around the encampment, able to see everyone but Horne, who has a habit of sequestering himself away from the rest of them on the rare occasions they all get stuck sleeping in the same place. “I’ll take my chances, niño. In the meantime, I suggest you remember you’re only alive right now thanks to me. Good night.”

He thinks Elijah snarls something further at him, but he’s not seriously paying him any attention any longer. Making his way across the camp, taking particular care as he steps around Sam’s sleeping form, he reaches his own bedroll, and discovers that Faraday has stolen more than his fair share of the bedding in his absence.

“Cabrón,” he mutters fondly, nudging Faraday with the toe of his boot. “Move over.”

Faraday grunts, coming awake only a little, but he does move. “Th’r y’are,” he mutters. “W’s just ‘bout t’come lookin’.”

“Uh huh,” Vasquez says doubtfully. “You look like you are moving very fast, guero.”

Faraday doesn’t say anything as Vasquez settles painstakingly down next to him, but he drapes the blanket back over the pair of them, taking care to make sure Vasquez is well and truly covered. “How’re you feelin’?” He asks, once Vasquez has managed to get himself situated, voice pitched low so as not to disturb their companions.

Vasquez spares a moment to take stock of his situation. His trek across their campsite had certainly taken more out of him than it normally would, and there’s no denying he’s still in pain – especially now that Faraday’s no longer acting to shield him from the worst of it. However, more than anything he just feels exhausted.

“Vas?” Faraday murmurs from behind him, a spark of worry trundling along through their bond.

“Tired,” is what Vasquez finally settles on, his voice slurring as sleep is quickly approaching now he’s horizontal once again.

Slowly, and ever mindful of Vasquez’s injury, Faraday snakes a hand underneath the blanket and gently drapes it over him, fingers moving in easy circles not far above where the makeshift bandage is wrapped around Vasquez’s stomach. “Then sleep,” he says, his voice still quiet. “Ain’t no reason not to.”

If he were in better shape, Vasquez might be tempted to argue with him simply for the sake of being contrary. However, as it happens, he’s already well on his way towards drifting off so all he does is hum in agreement and let his eyes slip closed.

*****

Emma meets them on the outskirts of town, her facing smoothing into a relieved smile when Vasquez comes into view, perched atop the late Josiah Bradbury’s mount and flanked on either side by Billy and Faraday. “I see you found him then. Should I have someone run and fetch Adelaide?”

“Yes,” Faraday says firmly, his eyes narrowing when he sees Vasquez start to shake his head. Vasquez sighs, his opinion of Faraday’s decision clear. “Uh uh, don’t you sass me none,” Faraday says, cutting off the inevitable protest. “You are gonna get some real doctorin’ and you’re gonna like it, end of discussion.”

“You cannot make me like something like that,” Vasquez replies sullenly, but he doesn’t try to protest again, and Faraday feels a sense of what he classifies as tired resignation through their bond. Taking this for the victory he knows it to be, he nods pleasantly at Emma. “Adelaide it is then.”

She smiles back. “Good, because I sent Teddy after her as soon as I saw you lot coming down the path. She’s waiting in your room at the boarding house.”

Faraday chuckles appreciatively. Trust Emma to always be two steps ahead of them no matter the situation. In a way, it’s one of the things he likes best about her.

Half of their crew splits off at the stables just past the edge of the town, with only Faraday, Vasquez, Emma and Sam continuing along on horseback all the way to the boarding house. Vasquez had looked like he was going to stop at the stables with the rest, only following with an exasperated sigh when Faraday had hissed at him under his breath, using their bond scoldingly to make it clear what he thought of the other man doing unnecessary moving around right now. Emma and Sam had followed them by unspoken agreement, which Faraday is grateful for since it means there’s someone available to take the reins from him as he slides down off Jack’s broad back and turns to eye Vasquez critically.

The outlaw is slowly, painfully easing his way out of his own saddle, the feelings coursing along their bond making it clear there’ll be dire consequences should Faraday dare to try and help him. Faraday silently responds with exactly what he thinks of this and shifts over to stand beside Vasquez’s horse lest the idiot do himself more damage stemming from his pride.

Vasquez growls at him. “I was not so annoying when you were hurt, guero, even though you got shot four times _and_ blew yourself up.

“That is a blatant falsehood,” Faraday informs him. “You were a goddamned nuisance, forever hoverin’ off to the side like a mama hen tryin’ to keep all her chicks in one place. Now, c’mere,” he adds, reaching up a hand to steady Vasquez in his slow progress out of the saddle. “Humour me.”

Vasquez mutters something distinctly rude sounding in Spanish – Faraday recognizes one or two of the words and at least one suggestion he thinks is physically impossible – but reaches out to grab the proffered hand just the same.

“Good boy,” Faraday tells him, smirking when Vasquez tightens his grip on Faraday’s hand painfully in reprimand.

Once Vasquez has both feet firmly planted on the ground, Sam and Emma gather up the horses and head in the direction of the stables, leaving Faraday solely responsible for getting Vasquez inside.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he say lowly, more mindful of his words now they’re back in Rose Creek with all manner of extra folk to be witness him getting all mushy like. He shifts his hand so that it’s resting lightly on Vasquez’s elbow, and gently steers him towards the porch steps. “Let’s get you to bed.”

As they step inside, the boarding house owner, Laura May, looks up from where she’s doing the books of her business and gives them a smile. “Back are you? Doc Cooper’s waitin’ for you both upstairs.”

She frowns when she notices how stiffly Vasquez is walking, her mouth turning down at the corners. “Damn bounty hunters,” she mutters darkly. “Did you kill ‘em all?”

Faraday shakes his head, jerking his thumb at Vasquez. “Billy got one, but this jackass told me I wasn’t allowed to waste the others. Damned unfair of him, if you ask me.”

Laura May quirks an eyebrow at Vasquez, but makes an obvious decision not to ask. Turning back to her books, she says, “Well, like I said, the Doc’s already up in your room. Which,” she adds, briefly raising her head again, “still falls under the same deal. They’re yours free of charge for as long as you need ‘em.”

For once Faraday doesn’t bristle at what he deems to be unnecessary charity, and instead gives her a grateful nod as he gets Vasquez moving again with the grip he still has on the man’s elbow.

“We need to stop letting her do that,” Vasquez mutters darkly. “There are seven of us and she will not make any money as long as we’re here taking up her space.”

“We’ll stash somethin’ behind in the room for her when we finally go,” Faraday assures him. “I mean, it ain’t like they haven’t paid us well enough to do so.”

Vasquez hums his agreement as they reach the top of the stairs. Shoving open the door to their room, Faraday sees Adelaide Cooper perched in their only chair, her medbag ready at her feet as she chews absently on the end of her long, dark braid.

Spitting the hair out of her mouth when she sees them, Adelaide stands and gives them both a scrutinizing look. “Well,” she says finally, “at least you’re both walkin’ under your own power this time.”

“More or less,” Faraday agrees, steering Vasquez forward as she gestures to the bed where someone’s already helpfully turned down the covers. “I’m fine by the way. It’s only this one you need to look at.”

“What happened?” She asks, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the careful manner in which Vasquez is lowering himself onto the bed.

“One of the bastards took a heated knife to him,” Faraday growls, his anger from earlier rearing its head again as he drops to the floor and starts to tug Vasquez’s boots off.

“I can do that myself, guero,” Vasquez protests darkly, though he makes to real move to put a stop to things.

“I’m sure you can,” Faraday acknowledges, briefly cupping a hand around Vasquez’s ankle as he gets the first boot off and then moving on to the second. Mission accomplished, despite Vasquez’s annoyed rumblings, he stands and backs up a bit so as not to get in Adelaide’s way.

“How many burns are there?” She asks. “And where are they?”

“Just the one,” Faraday says, even before Vasquez fully has his mouth open, “and it’s on his stomach. It’s already been treated some, but not by anyone with your know how.”

“Faraday,” Vasquez says, exasperated. “I can still speak fine, thank you.”

“I’m just tryin’ to help,” Faraday mutters, slightly stung and not bothering to hide it.

Vasquez opens his mouth to reply, but Adelaide beats him to the punch. “You can help best by getting’ out from underfoot and lettin’ me do my job.” She waves her hands back towards the door in a shooing motion. “I mean it. Go on, get.”

“It’s fine, Faraday,” Vasquez sighs as he reclines back against the pillows. “Adelaide can come find you when she’s done.”

That is not at all what Faraday wants, not with a nagging sensation sitting somewhere in the back of his hindbrain and telling him this is where he’s supposed to be, but there’s a certain obstinate curl to Vasquez’s mouth that tells him he’d best do as he’s told.

“Fine,” he allows, leaning forward just far enough that he can drop a quick kiss to Vasquez’s temple, “but I’m holdin’ both her and you to that.”

Shifting back, he heads out of the room. Just as he’s closing the door behind him, he hears Adelaide, her voice pitched low enough that she probably thinks Faraday won’t make her out. “Well, ain’t he bein’ oddly public with his affections now?”

Laura May’s vanished when Faraday comes back downstairs, probably off into the back room she uses as an office, no doubt, and she’s been replaced by Sam Chisolm, sitting in one of the chairs with his hat off and his feet propped up on another.

“Hey, Sam,” Faraday says tiredly. “The horses get taken care of okay?”

Sam nods. “The others looked after ‘em. Vasquez get taken care of okay?”

Faraday shrugs, dropping heavily into another of the nearby chairs. “Adelaide’s with him now. He’s in good hands.”

“And you’d know,” Sam replies, smiling a little when Faraday dips his chin in acknowledgment of the point. “She kick you out then? Or was it him?”

Faraday thinks it over. “Bit of both,” he decides eventually, making Sam snicker.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” Sam asks once his laughter trails off.

“Me?” Faraday blinks. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam gives him the look he always does when he thinks Faraday’s being particularly dim. “What?” Faraday asks, shifting self-consciously.

“You know what,” Sam replies. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but at least use what sense the good lord gave you and don’t play me for a fool.”

Faraday sighs. “He’s gonna be fine,” he says finally. “He’s gonna be fine, so I’m gonna be fine. I don’t think we need to discuss the matter further.”

“Joshua Faraday, you’ve got more hang-ups where your feelings are concerned than a heroine in a goddamned romance novel.”

“Sam,” Faraday hisses, bristling.

Sam holds his hands up, placating. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop messing with you. Though my point stands.”

Since responding would only serve to spur him on again, Faraday doesn’t bother.

“Where’d the others go?” He asks, wondering why they’re not back yet and hoping that’ll sufficiently distract Sam.

“Emma offered ‘em all supper over at her place, and I think they all took her up on it. She’ll probably save a place for you, if you want it.” He adds.

 _Save a place for you_ Faraday thinks absently. _If you want it_.

 _A place for you_.

_Huh._

He frowns. “Hey, Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you and the others still sold on the idea of riding out the day after tomorrow?”

Sam gives him a thoughtful look and then shrugs. “I’m not tied to any particular date. Why do you ask?”

“Because I figure if you can give him a little extra time to heal up, Vasquez and I’ll be with you when you go.” He meets Sam’s steady gaze head on. “What do you think?”

A smile slowly spreads across Sam’s face as he leans back in his chair. “As it happens, I think that’s a pretty fine idea.”

“Good.” Faraday sags back in his own chair and scrubs a hand tiredly over his face. “I just – I can’t promise anything, as far as how well it’ll go, but you had a point back there. With the Bradburys,” he clarifies, when Sam looks confused. “He’s safer if we’re travelling in a group. Most folks’d rather try and jump someone who’s on their own or with maybe one other person, than they would one of seven.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Faraday, am I to assume you’ve just made this decision without any input from Vasquez?”

Faraday waves a hand airily. “Don’t worry about it. He’s been after me to agree to go with you lot all along, he’ll be all for it now he knows I’m onboard.”

“Mhmm,” Sam says slowly. “Why don’t you bring it up with Vasquez first, and _then_ let me know what your plan is.” His face softens. “I promise we won’t go anywhere without knowing what you two are doing first. Deal?”

“Deal.” Faraday agrees. He’s not worried about what Vasquez will say, but if it makes Sam happy, he can clarify things first.

He and Sam fall into an easy silence that stretches out for a while, before being broken by the arrival of the rest of the crew.

“You lot are back already?” Sam says, sounding surprised. His eyes narrow suddenly. “Please tell me nobody did something to make Mrs. Cullen kick you out.”

Goodnight chuckles. “We did nothing of the sort, Sam Chisolm. In fact, we come bearing gifts.” With that he pulls a covered tray from behind his back with a flourish, nodding at Red who proceeds to reveal two more similar packages. “Dear Emma sent us over with enough food for the rest of our merry little band.”

He and Red set the plates of food down on the table, pulling the covers off in the process. The rick sent of a heart home cooked meal fills Faraday’s nostrils and he’s abruptly reminded that he’s barely eaten anything all day, having been too busy caught up in fussing over Vasquez. “God bless that woman.”

“Indeed,” Goodnight agrees. “She sent over a plate for Vasquez too if he’s feeling up to it.”

Faraday shrugs. “Adelaide’s still with him, but we’ll see what he wants once she’s done. Though he ain’t exactly one to turn away food.”

“We’ve noticed,” Billy says, hauling out one of the free table chairs and thumping down into it. “The man eats more than an entire army squad combined.”

“How would you know?” Horne demands as he grabs a seat of his own. “Ain’t like you’ve ever been in the army.”

“You think so?” Billy counters, and then they’re off, all of them devolving into the kind of rambling conversation they’ve all become so fond of.

Normally Faraday would take part, doing his level best to talk over everyone and make himself the centre of attention like he has so many times in the past. Today, though, he settles for sitting back, meal in hand, and letting the noise wash over him.

Breathing deeply, he stays that way, only half listening to whatever the others are arguing about now, until he hears the sound of footsteps on the stairs and sits upright again with a snap. The conversation tapers off as Adelaide comes into view, her bag sling over one shoulder, and what Faraday immediately recognizes as Vasquez’s ruined shirt in her hands.

“I don’t think there’s any saving it,” she says, following Faraday’s gaze to the dirty linen in her hands. “I’ll toss it so you don’t have to.”

As nice as that is of her, Faraday could not care less about the damn shirt. “How is he?”

“Exhausted,” she replies in her usual blunt way. “I gave him some laudanum for the pain and also to hopefully knock him out for a while since he needs the rest. Now, he’s all bandaged up, properly this time, and he should be fine so long as the wound stays clean and doesn’t get infected. I’ll be back in the morning to check on him.”

“Can we see him?” Sam asks.

Faraday turns to him, surprised, but one look is enough to tell him that not only is Sam serious, so are the others, all of them eagerly waiting for Adelaide’s answer.

The doctor shakes her head. “He needs the rest, so just leave him be for now. Except you, Faraday,” she says, cutting off his already half-formed protest with a raised hand. “You can go up. He was askin’ after you anyway.”

Faraday barely hears that last line because he’s already out of his seat and partway to the stairs before the words have left her mouth. He takes the steps two at a time and crosses the hall to his and Vasquez’s room, gently easing the door open when he reaches it to reveal Vasquez, sacked out on the bed, wearing nothing but his trousers and a white bandage wrapped loosely around his injury.

Faraday takes a moment to drink in the sight of them, feeling the tension drain out of his body as he watches the steady rise and fall of Vasquez’s chest, and then steps across the room to drop carefully into the chair Adelaide must have placed at the bedside while she was working.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, feeling like he can breathe again for the first time in the past three days. Leaning back in his seat, he glares over at Vasquez’s prostrate form. “I swear, you bastard, so help you god if ever do this to me again …”

He trails off, leaving the words hanging in empty air. “Oh, who am I kiddin’?” He mutters. “If you ever do this to me again, we both know I’m just gonna go chasin’ after you the same as I did this time.”

Vasquez, unsurprisingly, doesn’t offer up a comment.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

*****

Vasquez drifts back to consciousness slowly. He cracks his eyes open and glances up at the ceiling, confused when he sees soft beams of early morning light trailing across it. It’d been late in the evening when Adelaide had left, dusk having long set in and the room gone dark with it. If there’s sunlight now, he’s slept the whole night through.

Feeling groggy, he shifts around until he can slowly brace himself with his hands and push up into a semi-upright position. That’s definitely the morning sunlight drifting in through the room’s lace curtains, meaning he’s been out cold for longer than expected.

Craning his neck to take in the rest of the room, his eyes land on Faraday, asleep in a chair next to the bed, his chin resting in his hand, arm propped up on the back of his seat. The position seems terribly uncomfortable, and Vasquez feels a sympathy pain in his back just looking at him. Tiredly, he reaches out and lightly pokes Faraday in the shoulder.

“Guero,” he says softly, jabbing a little harder when Faraday doesn’t react. “Guero, wake up.”

Faraday makes a harsh snorting sound as he comes awake, his eyes initially blinking in confusion and then slowly coming into focus. “Vas? You awake?”

Vasquez lets his body fall back into the bedcovers with a chuckle. “Si, guero, though I don’t think the same can be said for you.”

“Yeah, not so much,” Faraday agrees, his jaw moving around an enormous yawn. “Fuck, sorry. W’time is it?”

He rubs a hand over his eyes, arching his back and stretching as he does so. “Ow, fuck,” he hisses, and Vasquez winces as the sound of bones cracking audibly echoes throughout the room.

Faraday flashes a sheepish grin as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Guess I’m getting’ a bit too old to be keepin’ a midnight vigil anymore.”

“You say that like you expect me to believe you’ve ever done it before,” Vasquez says, voice deliberately light.

Faraday doesn’t answer at first, but when he does the pinched look from before is back. “You have a point there, and I could’ve happily lived the rest of my life without havin’ to learn what it felt like.”

Vasquez sighs, he been afraid of something like this. Tiredly, he meets Faraday’s eye and pointedly pats the space on the bed beside him. There was enough room that Faraday could have – and frankly should have as far as Vasquez is concerned – spent the night sleeping in his usual spot, but it seemed he’d decided to martyr himself instead.

“Come here,” Vasquez says when Faraday doesn’t move. “You are too far away and I don’t want to get up.”

“But you will,” Faraday says resigned.

“Si,” Vasquez agrees, pleased by Faraday’s recognizing as much.

“Uh huh,” grumbling under his breath, Faraday hauls himself out of the chair. “You sure there’s enough room for me?” He asks, pausing with one knee braced on the bed.

Vasquez rolls his eyes. “Joshua.” He says pointedly.

“Alright, alright,” Faraday mutters. “There’s no need of that. I’m just tryin’ to be careful for hell’s sake.”

“We sleep in this bed without issue every night. There is room enough.”

“Yeah, but …”

“No buts,” Vasquez cuts him off. “Bed. Now.”

“Christ. Lord save me from temperamental Mexicans with poor attitudes.” Still muttering to himself, Faraday settles next to Vasquez on the bed, eventually sinking into the covers with a relieved sigh.

“Alright,” he says finally as he moves to work the kinks out of his muscles, voice muffled by the pillow he’s face planted into. “This might have been a good idea.”

Vasquez grins smugly over at him. “All my ideas are good.”

Faraday turns his head slightly, the right side of his face and one eye now becoming visible. “How’re you feelin’?”

Vasquez considers this. His side still aches, but nothing like it had before, and the laudanum Adelaide had given him has worn off enough that his head no longer feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. It seemed that what he’d needed more than anything was a good night’s sleep.

“Vas?” Faraday asks, still waiting for an answer.

Vasquez looks back at him, grin widening. “Hungry,” he decides.

Faraday huffs a laugh, the skin around his visible eye crinkling at the corner. Letting out a long groan, he shifts so that he can roll over on his back and drums his hands absently over his stomach. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Emma sent you over some supper last night, but you were already dead to the world by the time it got brought up. S’long gone cold by now.”

Vasquez frowns. “It’s bad to waste food.”

“I reckon in this one instance we can let it pass,” Faraday replies with a snort. “You want me to go see what I can scrounge up for breakfast?”

“No, stay with me,” Vasquez says quickly, face heating when Faraday gives him a knowing smirk. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles.

The smirk softens and Faraday moves again, this time rolling over until he can prop himself up on one elbow, the position allowing him to lean over Vasquez’s body. “S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “If you want me to stay, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He moves forward and catches Vasquez’s mouth in a soft kiss, a gentle press of lips that he immediately pulls back from when Vasquez tries to deepen it. “Uh huh,” he scolds. “You’re recoverin’ from bein’ fuckin’ scalded, and that means no funny business.”

Vasquez frowns up at him, letting his head fall back against his pillow with a sigh. “Guero, I have to tell you, I thought you would have calmed down some now that we’re back safe and sound.”

Faraday reaches out with his free hand and absently runs it through Vasquez’s hair, fingers digging into his scalp in exactly the way he likes. A soft smile curls Faraday’s mouth, and he says, “I’m perfectly calm, darlin’. Don’t’ you worry.”

Darling. That was a new one. Aside from the occasional sweetheart thrown his way during the heat of passion, Vasquez isn’t used to hearing endearments of any sort fall from Faraday’s lips.

“You are not calm,” he insists, only becoming more agitated when Faraday reaches out through their bond, his touch gentle, but enough to set Vasquez further on edge. “Stop that. Don’t distract me.”

“It ain’t meant to be distractin’,” Faraday assures. “I’m just tryin’ to make you feel better. I think I’m finally startin’ to get the hang of how to use this thing.”

“I am _fine_ ,” Vasquez stresses, ignoring the implications of Faraday’s words for now. “There is nothing wrong with me that will not heal, so you can stop all this – this fussing. It was strange enough back when you first found me. Do you realize Billy was there for that the whole time?”

“’Course I do,” Faraday says, unbothered. “Not even Rocks can stay invisible when he’s three feet in front of you.”

“And you’re not upset by that?” Vasquez asks, highly suspicious. Faraday has a hard time letting _Vasquez_ see him show emotion even when it’s just the two of them in private, to say nothing of having other witnesses present.

However, Faraday just shrugs. “I don’t imagine there’s much point in gettin’ bothered by it. Especially not if we’re gonna be ridin’ with the lot of them from now on. There ain’t exactly a lot of seclusion on the open road when you’re travellin’ in a group.”

Vasquez blinks. He can’t have heard that right. “What?”

Faraday, who has stopped his previous ministrations during their conversation, starts carding his fingers through Vasquez’s hair again. “I told Sam we’d take him up in his offer to go with them, provided it was still on the table. He told me to talk it over with you first.”

“Good,” Vasquez barks, batting Faraday’s hand away from his face and dragging himself into a sitting position. This is not a conversation he should be on his back for. “At least one of you is still using his brain.”

Faraday frowns, genuine befuddlement licking along his side of the bond. “I don’t get it,” he plaintively, obviously able to sense Vasquez’s irritation. “That’s what you wanted. You’ve been after me for weeks to agree to it.”

“Yes, but not … not …” Vasquez waves a hand, trying to illustrate something with the motion, but not really sure what. “Not like this,” he finishes lamely; well aware he’s doing a piss poor job of explaining himself.

“Not like what?”

Vasquez sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen. You have been saying all along that you don’t want to travel with the others, and given that I can tell when you are lying, I know you meant it. The only reason you are changing your mind now is because you got spooked.”

“Yeah, and?” Faraday says, startling Vasquez with his willingness to admit as much right off the bat.

“So, I am not going to subject you to a travelling arrangement you cannot stand just because you’ve decided you now need to martyr yourself at my expense.”

“Not even when it’s what _you_ want?”

“What I want is for us to figure out something that will work for both of us.” He takes a deep breath and meets Faraday’s gaze head on. “Can I make you a deal?”

Faraday nods. “Just name your price, sweetheart.”

Vasquez makes a face; he’d very much like it if this affable stranger would kindly return his far more temperamental soulmate. “First of all, stop agreeing to everything I say, it’s making me uncomfortable.” Faraday raises an eyebrow, but Vasquez continues on undeterred. “Second, you tell me why, truly why, you think this plan of yours is a good idea, and I will consider it.”

Faraday frowns. “I already told you why, it’s because it’s safer.”

“You’re a born gambler; you’ve never played anything safe in your life.”

“Well, maybe that’s because I ain’t had anythin’ in my life worth worryin’ over until now, you fuckin’ menace,” Faraday snaps, face flushing red in a clear indication that he thinks he’s said too much.

Vasquez remains undeterred. “Very flattering, guero, but not good enough.”

“Oh, for -!” Faraday’s face creases in obvious frustration and he runs his hands roughly through his hair. “Vas, you want this, and I’m sayin’ I’ll go for it, why’re you bein’ such a stubborn ass?”

“Because you still haven’t answered my question. Why do you think this is a good idea if it’s going to make you so miserable? You remember that I can feel what you do, don’t you? This doesn’t sound like fun for either of us.”

“For hell’s sake!” Faraday barks, “I think it’s a damn good idea because, given the choice between riskin’ ruinin’ us and riskin’ you windin’ up with a noose around your neck because some two bit bounty hunter thinks your life is only worth five hundred dollars, I will take the first one every goddamned time!” He stops then, breathing ragged and his sides heaving with exertion like he’s just been in a bar room brawl.

“Ruining what?” Vasquez asks. He can’t have heard that right.

Except, there’s an uncomfortable feeling coursing along their bond, one that says Faraday has let slip more than he’d intended.

“Joshua,” Vasquez says firmly. “Just what _exactly_ are you worried will happen if we go with the others?” Up until now Vasquez had thought the problem was simply Faraday wanting more privacy in his life than travelling as a group of seven would permit, but now he’s beginning to suspect he may have been off in his assumption.

Faraday doesn’t answer, choosing instead to squirm uncomfortably, looking guilty.

“Joshua,” Vasquez says again, this time with an edge of warning in his voice.

Faraday shakes his head stubbornly, mouth still firmly shut, and Vasquez sighs.

“Guero, come on,” Vasquez reaches up and strokes a hand lightly along Faraday’s cheek, fingertips running lightly over the fair scruff to be found there. “This will be much easier if you talk to me.”

“Ugh,” Faraday sighs, but he sags into Vasquez’s touch, which is a good sign.

“It’s just …” he bites his lips, so obviously wrestling with some internal struggle or other that Vasquez can’t help but try and sooth him through their bond. “It’s difficult to explain,” he admits softly. “I dunno how to put it.”

“Take your time,” Vasquez tells him, pleased with how they seem to be getting somewhere. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s just it, y’will though. Eventually.”

Vasquez wants to throw down an adamant protest against this, but one look at Faraday’s face makes it clear that’s not what he needs to hear right now. “Alright,” he says instead, less because he agrees, and more because he needs to carefully navigate the minefield that is Faraday’s emotions. “Tell me why you think that.”

Faraday’s eyes slip shut and he lets out a ragged breath. “It’s because I’ve been on my own so long, I don’t know how t’be anythin’ else.”

“And what does that mean?”

His eyes still closed, Faraday shakes his head.

“Joshua.”

Faraday opens his eyes and shoots Vasquez a glare, albeit one with very little heat behind it. “Y’know, it ain’t right how you always call me that when you’re scoldin’ me.”

“You don’t like it when I call you it when others can hear.” Vasquez replies. “Otherwise, I might use it at other times.”

“Eh, don’t really mind it that much, truly. So long as it’s only you who’s doin’ it, anyway.”

That was something to keep in mind, but it wasn’t what they needed to be focusing on right now. “You’re avoiding my question, cariño.”

Faraday cocks his head to one side. “Ain’t heard that one before. You gettin’ more expressive in your endearments now?”

“Answer my question, and maybe I’ll answer yours.”

Faraday rolls his eyes, but at least the emotions roiling around his side of the bond seem to be calming somewhat, though they’re still very much on edge. “It’s just been me for so long, I don’t know how to be anythin’ else,” he says in a rush. “It’s gonna be hard enough for me to get over that if it’s just the two of us, but it’s gonna be a thousand times worse if I’ve got seven different personalities to navigate. I’m gonna fuck it up, sweetheart. Maybe not right away, and definitely not on purpose, but I’m gonna fuck it up so bad I probably won’t be able to fix it.”

Vasquez feels his mouth drop open in surprise. On the one hand he can’t believe that _this_ is what’s been bothering Faraday all along, but on the other he can’t believe he hadn’t figured it out for himself. Now that it’s laid out in front of him, it makes a certain kind of sense. Terrible sense, certainly, but sense nevertheless.

“You really think it’s going to be that hard for you?” He asks.

Faraday shrugs. “I mean, I’ll try not to let it be, but I think it’s a solid possibility, yeah.”

“Then going with them is the wrong idea, we won’t do it.”

“No, we will,” Faraday disagrees. “The reason bein’, it’s one thing if I ruin things between the two of us by makin’ an ass out of myself, but it’s entirely another if you get killed by some idiot with a warrant in his pocket. ‘Cuz you see, one of those would kill me too, and it ain’t the first option.”

Vasquez freezes. “Joshua,” he says slowly, voice trailing off for lack of the right words to say.

Faraday gives him a rueful grin. “Yeah, sweetheart. I don’t know if I can say it yet, but I can try if you need me too.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Abruptly, Vasquez reaches out and fists both his hands in the rumpled shirt Faraday had slept in, hauling the other man towards him as fast as he can.

“What -?” Faraday starts to say, but Vasquez cuts him off with a fierce kiss.

“What I need,” he hisses, biting roughly at Faraday’s bottom lip and fumbling with the buttons of his trousers, “is for you to come here, and for you to take your damn clothes off.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Faraday yelps, hands coming up to land on Vasquez’s shoulders in an attempt to hold him back. “Absolutely not, not with the state you’re in, darlin’.”

“Joshua,” Vasquez barks, momentarily giving up on the man’s trousers in favor of dealing with his shirt instead, “you cannot tell me you love me and expect me not to react. Idiota.” He leans forward, intent on gaining more access to his nuisance of a soulmate.

Faraday bristles, even as he tilts his head up to give Vasquez better access to his throat. “I did _not_ use the word love, thank you very much.” He snaps, clearly determined to be contrary to the end.

“It was implied,” Vasquez snaps back, beginning to make quick work of the buttons on Faraday’s shirt, irrationally pleased he’s not currently wearing one as well. It’s possible he rips one or two buttons in his haste, but as soon as they’re out of his way he pushes the linen fabric back off Faraday’s shoulders and leans forward to lick a hot stripe along the words located at the column of his throat, a move guaranteed to drive the man crazy.

“Vas,” Faraday gasps. “Fuck, oh fuck, that’s cheatin’!”

“You’re too good a gambler, carino,” Vasquez shoots back, “I know better than to play fair. Now come _here_ ”

He tugs roughly at Faraday, hands grasping at the man’s shoulders, and pulls until his own back hits the pillows, Faraday landing heavily on top of him.

“Jesus fuck, you idiot,” Faraday swears, struggling to prop himself up on his hands. “Would you calm down, you’re gonna fuckin’ hurt yourself!”

While that may be so, and, indeed, if he’s being honest Vasquez can admit that his side hadn’t enjoyed being hit with Faraday’s considerable weight, he also couldn’t care less. Hands shaking, he reaches once again for the front of Faraday’s trousers, intent on getting what he’s after.

“Christ, sweetheart, just slow down a little, would you?” Faraday starts to form another protest, only to have the words cut off in a ragged gasp when Vasquez finally gets his pants open. Licking a stripe along his palm with his tongue, Vasquez grins up at Faraday and then unceremoniously shoves his hand in the man’s trousers, immensely gratified when Faraday chokes out a moan.

“Vas.” Faraday doesn’t quite whimper, but it’s a near thing.

“Si, mi amor,” Vasquez murmurs, leaning up to catch Faraday’s mouth in a searing kiss. “You like that?”

“Fuck, ‘course I do. You – _god_ – know that.”

“Si,” Vasquez agrees. “I do.”

“Alright, alright,” Faraday hisses, finally, blessedly seeming to get with the program. He groans again as Vasquez strokes a hand along his length, but then starts moving on his own.

“Fuck, c’mere then. Let me, let me just – _fuck_.” Faraday fumbles with the front of Vasquez’s own trousers, getting them open after a bit of a struggle, and then pushing them back and down his hips. “Tell me what you want, darlin’.”

“You, carino,” Vasquez tells him. “Just you.”

Faraday lets out what can only be described as a tortured groan and from there everything just dissolves in a mess of writhing limbs and breathy moans as they rock together on the bed. “Shit,” Faraday swears after an immeasurable length of time has passed. “ _Fuck_ , sweetheart, I’m gonna …” he trails off with a shudder and Vasquez drags him in for a bruising kiss.

“Si, yes. Si. It’s alright, Joshua,” he babbles, the words pouring out of him like water droplets during a storm, as he feels Faraday’s entire body lock up right before he comes with a ragged groan, and then it’s Vasquez’s turn, the emotions coming from Faraday’s end of their bond all he needs to send him over the edge as well.

“Ay, carino,” Vasquez murmurs once he can breathe again, holding on while they both ride out the aftershocks, his hands buried in Faraday’s sweat soaked curls as he presses kiss after kiss to every part of the man he can reach. “So good, you’re so good for me. Te amo, carino. Te quiero mucho. Para siempre.”

Faraday huffs a laugh, eventually batting Vasquez away from his face when the affection goes past the point he can tolerate. “Quit it, would you? It’s bad enough how you always gotta babble at me in Mexican that you know I don’t understand, don’t go fussin’ all over the place in other ways too.”

“It’s not Mexican, guero,” Vasquez says, the same as he has countless times before. “It’s _Spanish_. Español. I’m not surprised you can’t understand it if you don’t even know what it’s called.”

“I know what it’s called,” Faraday grumbles. He flashes Vasquez one of his most obnoxious grins. “I just like the way callin’ it the wrong thing always twist you up in a knot.”

Vasquez rolls his eyes, the motion tempered by the rush of fondness he feels as Faraday drops a quick kiss on his lips and then shifts backwards along the bed. “Where are you going? Get back here.”

“Just a second, sweetheart,” Faraday mutters, evading Vasquez’s grasping hands as he roots around in the bedclothes that had gotten disturbed by their recent activities, clearly looking for something.

“Aha,” he says triumphantly when he comes up with his own crumped shirt in one hand. “This’ll do fine enough. I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re kinda disgustin’ right now.”

“I hope you’re not planning to wear that shirt again today,” Vasquez informs him, unable to keep from snickering as Faraday uses the item in question to mop up the mess they’ve made of each other.

“I can’t say that I am, no,” Faraday replies, tossing the shirt to the floor once he’s gotten them cleaned up to his apparent satisfaction. He hikes his trousers back into place and then frowns down at the bandage that’s still covering the lower half of Vasquez’s torso. “There’s spunk on this. We’re so gettin’ an earful.”

“Are you actually upset about that, or are you just complaining because you can?”

“Considerin’ it’s bound to me who gets chewed out? A little of column a, and a little of column b.”

Chuckling, Vasquez crooks a finger at him, motioning for him to come closer. “You should stop worrying about a bandage that is bound to be changed soon anyway and come here.”

“Oh I should, should I?” Faraday grouses, but he’s smiling as he says it. “Fine.”

He settles down beside Vasquez, lightly draping one arm over his chest and stroking his fingers gently over the skin right above the start of the bandage. “Feelin’ okay?”

Vasquez considers this. As much as he had enjoyed their recent activities, there was no denying that the throbbing in his side has intensified. “Eh, could be worse.”

“Which is not to say it ain’t botherin’ you,” Faraday grumbles. “C’mere. Let’s see if I can do this again.” Closing his eyes, he flattens his hand out over Vasquez’s torso, breathing deeply through his nose. “That any better?” He asks as a soothing warmth glides along their bond, taking the worst of the ache with it.

“Mmm,” Vasquez hums. “Gracias.”

“No thanks necessary.”

They lay in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company, but eventually Vasquez acknowledges that they still have something important to discuss and he wants to do it now in case Faraday taking his pain away winds up having the same effect as it had the last time.

“What is it?” Faraday groans, before Vasquez has even opened his mouth. “I can tell you’re about to say somethin’ to ruin my good mood. The damn bond’s actin’ up with it.”

“Not ruin,” Vasquez insists. “Not unless you’re going to continue to be a stubborn bastard, at least.”

Faraday’s silence is weighted.

Vasquez laughs as he rolls over onto his uninjured side, propping himself up on one arm and resting his head in the palm of his hand. “I know, I know. Being a stubborn bastard is what you do best.”

“Well, I don’t know about it being what I do best, but it’s definitely up there. Now,” Faraday adds pointedly. “Why don’t you say whatever it is you need to say?”

Vasquez clicks his tongue. “Alright. Going back to what we were talking about earlier, I’ve considered your reasoning, as promised,” here he pauses to smack Faraday in the shoulder when he snickers inappropriately, “and we can go with the others if that’s what you want. On one condition,” he adds, before Faraday’s smug smirk has even spread fully across his face.

“And what’s that?” Faraday asks, eyes narrowing.

“If travelling that way is too much for you, then we _both_ leave. And no, that’s not negotiable. If you try and leave me behind, I will follow you _and_ I will make your life miserable.”

“Oh, well when you put it like that how I could I possibly resist?” Faraday grumbles, but he’s smiling and Vasquez can feel how pleased he is through the bond. “Though, I reckon it’s a decent enough compromise.”

“It’s also the only one you’re getting,” Vasquez replies firmly.

“Fine,” Faraday huffs. “Now, which one of us gets to break the news to Sam?”

“I don’t see why we can’t both do it,” Vasquez decides.

“Fair enough,” Faraday agrees. “Hell, he might not even believe it if it’s just comin’ from me.”

As far as Vasquez is concerned, that’s just added proof that Sam Chisolm is a decent enough man to follow, but he keeps that thought to himself, choosing instead to lie back with a satisfied sigh.

*****

They set out from Rose Creek a little over a week later, all seven of them. It takes exactly seventeen minutes for Faraday and Goodnight to get into their first shouting match, and just watching them Vasquez decides he couldn't be happier. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Woot, and that's all she wrote folks. I hope you guys had a good time with this one. It's a bit more on the angsty side than it's predecessor, and I know that's not everyone's cup of tea. I promise I'll write something that's just fluffy nonsense soon in order to try and make up for this.
> 
> ALSO, if you guys haven't already then you simply must go and listen to the podfics that the amazing Mistmarauder has been doing for this fandom. She freaking NAILED You Push, I Push Back and I am in awe of her everything. Seriously, go shower her with love.


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